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It had been too long in his mind. And this wasn’t the first time. Yet Scriabin had not given up. He had many tools with which to get someone’s attention. Surely, one of them would work on Edgar.
He decided to wear an oversized shirt that left his shoulder exposed and very short shorts, hoping that Edgar would attack him and kiss him out of nowhere. He called it his ‘morning after a hookup’ attire, meant to entice one in for a second round. It worked on many others in the past, so he had no reason to suspect it would not work now. Posing against the doorframe, he waited for Edgar to notice him. However Edgar made no motion in greeting, nor spoke a word about how he looked as he continued to gather his schoolwork and organize it on the table.
Letting out an irritated huff, Scriabin pushed off the doorframe. Getting closer to Edgar, he paused mid step and posed again, looking as sultry as possible when Edgar turned to face him. But Edgar just looked at him with the most exhausted look, mumbled a greeting, gave him a kiss on the cheek then settled at the kitchen table to resume his work.
Scriabin stood there a moment in stunned silence, pouting. Never had he been so underwhelmingly regarded. Part of him wanted to leave the apartment right then and there. See how Edgar fared when he was all alone for once. However, seeing Edgar all stressed made him think better of it, instead wanting to shake him loose. Make him forget about his stresses, if only for a little bit. Edgar, unsurprisingly, didn’t make that easy.
“I know something that’ll take that frown away,” he whispered into Edgar’s ear as he draped both arms over his shoulders in a loose hug.
“I don't have time right now,” Edgar responded with a shake of his head. He leaned forward slightly. Scriabin let his arms fall away and stood straight again. “One of my group dropped out so I have to pick up their research and try to find a way to work it into the presentation we have next week.” Then his laptop made a decisive ping, which after reading the note, pulled a resigned groan from Edgar. “And of course, the research they’d done is next to useless, so I may as well do it from scratch at this point.”
As he listened, Scriabin took a few steps to the side, looking at Edgar as he continued to lament. He wanted to be upset, but found himself strangely sympathetic. At least so far in seeing the effects these projects had on someone he cared about. It was especially noticeable when Edgar started scratching at the still healing wounds below his eyes. Each time the nails snagged a scab he’d wince, but kept doing it anyway. Scriabin saw this repetitive tic and immediately grabbed Edgar’s wrist.
“What? Oh,” Edgar said, clearly surprised at seeing the blood on his hands. Scriabin scowled at his negligence. Pulling his chair away from the table, Scriabin told him to sit still while he grabbed the first aid kit. Upon his return, he hissed at Edgar to sit back, who had been leaning towards the laptop again to see the messages being sent to him. Edgar obliged, however his eyes kept trailing back to the screen. With an irritated sigh, Scriabin closed the laptop and placed the first aid kit over it. Then he forcibly sat on Edgar’s lap to clean the wounds.
“I didn’t know you had a first aid kit,” Edgar stated as he watched Scriabin open some disinfectant wipes.
“I didn’t. I had to get one when I started seeing someone who was terribly good at hurting themselves,” Scriabin replied as he gently wiped the blood away. A few bubbles tingled, forcing Edgar to make a small pained sound. Scriabin hushed him as he continued to clean the cuts. When they were sufficiently clean and there were no more trails of blood down his cheeks, Scriabin leaned over to grab some ointment. He paused when he felt a soft kiss on his collar.
"Thank you for always taking care of me," Edgar murmured, wrapping his arms around Scriabin’s waist.
Scriabin sighed in relief as if he had been waiting an eternity. He doesn't know what it is, what gets Edgar to switch gears to do what he wants. He's not as easy as other people. But he enjoys the challenge.
"... And I'm sorry, if I didn't pay due attention to you a moment ago." His fingers moved shyly on Scriabin's back, making little endearing circles. "And even more so when you try to look good for me."
Scriabin made a tsk sound, pulling gently on Edgar's hair so his head fell back.
"Someone has to look after you. It's not like you do a good job of it," he chided as an ointment covered finger slid over the wounds in a gentle swipe. "And I always look this good. You just never notice."
Edgar hissed at the small sting of the ointment on the open wounds, Although that didn't stop a small blush from tingling his cheeks.
"I do, I just didn't want to sound silly for saying it so much. I'm still wondering how someone like me is dating you."
"If it was silly, I'd say so." Scriabin sounded irritated, but his hands remained gentle as he grabbed some bandaids and started to cover the first of the two wounds. "Stop wasting time wondering about things that don't matter."
Always so full of doubt. Scriabin would find it cute, if it wasn't also vexing.
"I'm sorry." Edgar looked down sheepishly. His eyes closed for a moment as Scriabin put the last band aid down. He recognized the irritation in his partner's voice, but his touch was still gentle. Edgar felt a pang in his chest. He didn’t deserve such tenderness.
"Well, instead of apologizing, you could start making it up to me, don't you think?" Scriabin replied sarcastically as he got up from Edgar's lap. Hands tightened on his hips, stopping Scriabin from leaving.
"It's, it's not fair," Edgar said hesitantly. Scriabin looked at him sharply.
"What isn't?" he asked, irritation still coloring his voice.
"That I constantly have to choose between you and working towards my career."
"Feh, and you're blaming me for that?" Scriabin argued, his hair fluffing as he pulled back to cross his arms. Edgar looked alarmed by the display.
"No, no! I just wish I had more time. It just feels like I don't have an adequate amount to spend on all of it," Edgar hurriedly added. Scriabin clearly looked offended, as if it was hardly a difficult decision. But he wasn't in college, he didn't understand, at least Edgar didn't think so. The pressures to excel were high. His life strained under the weight of expectation.
"If only there was a way to do both."
A pang of fear ran through Scriabin's heart. A fear of the small possibility that Edgar might choose his career over him, but it was quickly buried by his frustration and anger. He didn't know what to do, and it pained him that all this could tear them apart. Not knowing where to redirect all this whirlwind of negative emotions, he found it easiest to place it on Edgar's shoulders.
"But it's not possible, and I really try," Edgar added firmly. Trying to think hard about what he was going to say, since arguing with Scriabin, felt like walking on a minefield
"I try to organize the time I spend studying, to get it done when you’re at work, I really try, but it's still not enough for you."
"And if you had a job you'd be saying the same thing. Never enough time, because you don't make time for it. Of course it's not enough for me, because all I get are the scraps!" Scriabin countered. The fear in his chest bubbled up and he found he couldn’t keep it in check anymore.
"What, you think no one ever has a relationship while they go about their lives? You think since you haven't managed it, that that makes it impossible? News flash Vargas, I have a job. I have a life. And I still make considerable adaptations in it for you. I think about how things affect you, about your wellbeing, whether you like one thing or another. I think about you all of the time. Can you say the same thing? Or am I just an extracurricular activity to fill in the gaps of your oh so precious schedule?"
"No, of course not, I.... You're more than that" Edgar swallowed, his mouth felt dry, barely able to process the whole bomb of information that had just been thrown at him. He was so wrapped up in himself and his responsibilities that he had neglected what mattered most to him, and he was so afraid of losing it.
"Oh come on, just keep it to yourself." Scriabin let out a laugh as he looked at him with incredulous eyes. "I'm always competing and I hate it! I've been competing for your attention since the beginning, and I'm done," Scriabin retorted, finally saying what had been eating away at him for the past few weeks. Though it felt a relief to finally say it, he didn’t like the bewildered expression on Edgar’s face. It made him madder, knowing that like always, he was oblivious.
"Do you have any idea how I've been feeling this week? No of course you don’t. You're never here! You stay up late studying, or absorbed in your books, and I'm alone, and I hate it! I hate it! And you seem to be fine with it," Scriabin continued, voice getting higher in near panic. He bit his cheek as Edgar looked at him in mild shock, letting the pain color his words. "You don't even seem to care that I'm..."
It was too much. The more Scriabin said the tighter Edgar's chest felt. His throat felt like a lump was blocking his airways and the more he tried to breath through it the more difficult it became. His mind raced with useless thoughts as he tried to make sense of it all.
"You're done?" he asked in the saddest voice Scriabin had ever heard. The words echoed and bounced, filling Edgar's head, unable to move past them once he voiced them. Of course, it was only a matter of time, he thought. No one could put up with him forever. It was silly to think otherwise.
Scriabin paused, his anger faltering slightly as he looked into those big eyes. Then he cursed under his breath as large tears suddenly bubbled up and slid silently down Edgar's cheek, some of it absorbing into the bandages.
As soon as Edgar felt the warm trace go down his cheeks, he took off his glasses and quickly wiped his eyes, it wouldn't do him any good to have Scriabin see him in such a pathetic way.
"I'm sorry... I really didn't mean to make you feel that way, I.... I'm really sorry."
Suddenly, the room felt smaller, like the walls were closing in as Scriabin's eyes bore into his. Edgar watched him open and close his mouth several times, no words coming out. It seemed he didn’t know where to go further with his anger fueled tirade, so Edgar tried to speak around the lump in his throat.
"I was actually planning on taking fewer subjects next semester, so I could spend more time with you. But, I understand if that's not enough either," he replied rather awkwardly. "I just need to..." Edgar continued, his hands wanting to rest on Scriabin's hips again, but they stopped mid-movement. Scriabin noticed to his regret how Edgar's hands trembled and how he tried to control his breathing in order not to start sobbing.
"Stop acting like you always need to play catch up. I hate hearing how you'll make it up to me," Scriabin interjected sharply. Edgar flinched at the tone, letting out a small breath of relief when Scriabin took his hands and guided them to rest on his waist. "It makes me feel like an afterthought. Like you are being reprimanded for forgetting to do some chore. I'm not a task on your to do list."
The trembling settled a little as Edgar focused on the contact. His breath slowed as the mental tirade calmed. He didn't feel better exactly, but at least Edgar wasn't on the verge of a panic attack.
"Were you serious about taking fewer classes, or was that something you just came up with to appease me?" Scriabin asked in a considering voice after a moment of silence passed between them.
"Emmm, Y-yes of course!" He admitted shakily, his voice low, closer to him than before, and sounding unsteady. Edgar let Scriabin's touch and closeness anchor him to the present, but it was difficult to order his thoughts as the fear of making things even worse was still present, so far every answer he's given Scriabin has been wrong. At least it always felt that way.
"It's something I've been thinking about these past few weeks. When I was living with... my old roommate, I didn't mind the burden my current classes were putting on me, but..." he paused, voice a little more firm and the tears had stopped. Scriabin was still looking at him angrily, but Edgar could catch a hint of curiosity in his gaze.
"Now I'm sharing my life with someone else, and it's really selfish not to dedicate more time to him. He deserves all I can give.”
"Ugh, it's so cringe when you try to say things you think I want to hear," Scriabin retorted, averting his gaze and clearing his throat with a self conscious cough. Edgar frowned, unsure what to do.
"But it's true. I want to spend more time with you than I currently get to. To achieve that, I have to make adjustments to my graduation plans. And we have to get through the rest of this term. Can you. . . bear with me till then? Just a little longer?"
Scriabin didn't have to look at him to know that Edgar was staring so hopefully. He let Edgar sit in suspense, a small revenge after all this dramatic nonsense. He hadn't meant to make him cry, but he certainly wasn't going to back down from his stance.
"I said I was done competing for your attention-," he said, pausing when he felt Edgar's hands tighten slightly. "-not that I was done with you. From now on, I'm going to get what I want, whether or not it's convenient for you. So it's in your best interest to make sure you keep me satisfied."
“I-I'll try my best," Edgar replied, his voice still shaking with nervousness even as the tension in his chest eased. He could tell Scriabin was still irritated, but somehow his words brought a little peace to his mind. He had not lost Scriabin, at least not yet.
Scriabin watched Edgar wipe the last tears from his eyes, being careful not to touch the bandaged wounds. A small hint of pity softened his heart when he noticed his partner's eyes full of tiredness and sadness as he put his glasses back on. It didn’t make him regret what he said, but he couldn't help feeling some guilt for being so harsh. Not that he’d admit such a thing.
"Is there anything I can do for you now?" Edgar asked sheepishly, that tired look resting on his with a hint of hope. Scriabin basked in it letting out a small chuckle. The best part of their discussions was when Edgar tried to make amends.
Scriabin crossed his arms and looked away, trying to keep a scowl on his face. The neckline of his shirt sagged as his shoulders lowered, the cool air making him shudder as it exposed the clear line of skin.
"Not now. You've gone and ruined the mood," he stated sulkily. "You have a knack for that," he added softly, one eye peering at him from around the rim of his glasses.
Edgar's gaze lowered as a new wave of guilt hit him. Scriabin was right about that, he did have a knack for ruining special moments. Scriabin was always taking that first step, always asking something of him. And it always was a struggle for Edgar to respond in kind, even if he wanted to. It just didn't come easy to him, at least that's what he told himself. But that didn't matter. What mattered was that he made the effort now.
"Maybe. . . I can fix that?" he ventured. One hand traveled under Scriabin's shirt and trailed up along his spine, gently pressing their chests together. "I can fix the mood for you," Edgar assured as he placed a hot-breathed kiss upon the curve of Scriabin's neck. "If you want me to."
"Mph! Bold of you thinking I still want that. It won't be so easy to convince me, you know?" Scriabin flinched at the contact. His first instinct was to pull away to show his still simmering anger, but his body betrayed him as it moved closer to the other man's lips, subconsciously craving for contact after being neglected for the whole week.
"Besides... You’ll just leave me all ready and wanting while you’re off to deal with your classes and projects." Scriabin continued, his firm tone dropping a little as Edgar continued to leave kisses along his collarbone. The sensation of his soft lips traveled straight from Scriabin's pulse point to his spine, each one eliciting a sigh. He bit his lip to keep any sounds from coming out. He would not so easily give Edgar the satisfaction of appeasing him.
"I won't! My classes were canceled today anyway!" Edgar retorted in desperation, pulling back to look at Scriabin directly. His hands came to rest on his partner's thighs as if to entice him to come closer.
"Please Scriabin..."
"How convenient," Scriabin retorted. Before Edgar could lean in and try to weaken his resolve further, Scriabin grabbed his chin. Edgar stopped mid motion, the tension in his chest returning as Scriabin cupped his jaw firmly.
"And when were you going to tell me that?" Scriabin asked, voice silken and belying his growing frustrations.
"After. . . dealing with my group projects problem?" Edgar replied uncertainty. Scriabin searched his gaze, trying to feel out if he was lying, but Edgar stayed fast. "I wanted to resolve the issue quickly so I'd have the rest of the day to spend with you." The look of disbelief on Scriabin’s face urged him to continue.
"That's why I barely slept yesterday!" replied Edgar honestly, the tension in his chest increased as he felt Scriabin's hand cup his chin a little tighter with barely disguised anger. Scriabin hated lies, that much he knew all too well, he hoped what he was stating wouldn't pass one off. “Although in hindsight, working so late so I’d have more time with you today kind of get’s undercut from the lack of sleep.”
“Yea no shit. I may as well add today to the number of days I go without you,” Scriabin retorted sullenly.
"I've missed you too..." Edgar muttered in closing, with a tinge of guilt in his voice and regret on his face, he didn't know what else he was doing to convince Scriabin, and it really hurt to have no idea how to repair the damage he had done to him.
"Mph, great way to show it," Scriabin snorted, halfway between sarcasm and disbelief. "Fine, I'll give you another opportunity."
The tightness that had been in Edgar's chest was suddenly replaced by a burst of relief and joy. He smiled at Scriabin as he took his hands and directed them under his shirt.
"You better make it up to me properly."
"I will but," Edgar replied, but was swiftly cut off by a fierce kiss. It was forceful as Scriabin pressed into him with bruising intensity. Edgar flinched, but parted his lips as though giving in. But Scriabin paused, catching himself before completely letting go.
"I don't care what else you think you have to do. It can wait," he breathed, eyes hidden beneath reflective lenses.
"Ok, Ok I get it," Edgar replied softly. When Scriabin didn't move, he slid both hands over his skin, causing him to arch into the touch with a sigh.
"That's better."
Edgar delighted in the little sounds and expressions he could elicit from Scriabin as he ran his hands down his waist, slowly exploring his sides. Seeing him so needy and yearning for his touch made him feel both thrilled and guilty at the same time. It was painfully obvious that he had neglected him, and he planned to make it up to him with everything he had
"God, you're so slow." Scriabin reached up to run the pad of his thumb across Edgar's cheekbone in a tender gesture that he appreciated for the brief moment it lasted.
He could feel the other's smile as Edgar pulled Scriabin in for another kiss. At that moment, Edgar's hands tangled in Scriabin's messy hair with a grip that danced on the edge of pain, but tight enough to send shocks of pleasure down Scriabin's spine.
"I'm sorry, I just wanted to appreciate you for a little longer," Edgar whispered against Scriabin's lips.
"Go on then. Appreciate me more," Scriabin sighed encouragingly. The grip on his hair tightened, pulling out a short gasp and a delicious shiver. His hand trailed from Edgar's cheek down the side of his neck to rest on his shoulder.
Again Edgar closed the distance between them in a heated kiss. They both let out a sound, somewhat relieved and entirely eager. Scriabin rolled his hips, pressing himself into Edgar, who shuddered and sighed between hungry lips. Edgar let one hand leave Scriabin's hair to wrap around his waist, pulling him closer, which only encouraged Scriabin to grind against him more earnestly.
Scriabin's voice was husky in a way that made Edgar's head spin. He had a smile stretched over his bright red lips, a smile that quickly disappeared as Edgar tentatively ran his hands over his hips, his fingertips playing with the edge of his shorts. Scriabin took the hint and lifted up just enough to give Edgar room to pull them down a little.
"I want to take care of you," Edgar murmured against Scriabin's lips. He felt Scriabin's knees go weak, and felt him clutch his shoulders. "Sort of an apology for not giving you the attention you deserved."
"Mmmmm, you could do that?" Scriabin purred. He had gone from light kissing pressure on the side of Edgar's mouth to sucking on a mark just below the older man's jaw.
Edgar hummed in response. At first he was content following Scriabin's assertion. He palmed Scriabin's ass, encouraging him to grind against him. However it didn't take long for Edgar to want more.
"Wait, before things get too intense," he stated, slowing his movements and pulling back to look Scriabin in the eye.
"God what now? Can't we have a moment without you trying to ruin the mood?" Scriabin grouched, clearly not entirely over their spat. Edgar pursed his lips, hesitant to speak his mind. Scriabin let out a huff and leaned back, crossing his arms and looking more irritated.
"I just wanted us to move to a more comfortable spot," Edgar said, his face falling into a pout. Unlike Scriabin who always looked petulant, he really looked put out. Scriabin felt his heart thump heavy in his chest.
"Ughhh, why does it bother you? It's not like it's the first time we've done it here," Scriabin snorted irritably, shaking off any hesitation that seeing Edgar upset left him with.
"I know, but still, I want you to be comfortable, I want you to enjoy it properly," Edgar replied softly, trying another approach to appease Scriabin. His hands went to the other man's face, Edgar kissed him gently in apology, and in the kiss a thousand words of devotion were spoken. His tongue licked Scriabin's lower lip, an entrance he gave eagerly.
"We can go to the sofa, it's not that far," Edgar murmured encouragingly, the sound muffled against Scriabin's lips.
"Please let me take care of you."
Scriabin let out a wounded sound, almost a whine. It was a sound Edgar had never heard before. It was the kind of sound that made him want to protect him. Do whatever he wanted. Make him feel safe and loved.
Abruptly pulling back, Scriabin glared at his partner, practically daring him to mention it. But Edgar simply smiled.
"Fine let's, let's go to the couch then," Scriabin said, his voice cracking so that he was forced to clear it with a cough. With fluid ease, he smoothly got to his feet and adjusted his clothes before turning towards the living room.
He got only a few paces before Edgar followed like an eager shadow.
Edgar caught up by the time he reached the back of the couch, wrapping his arms around Scriabin from behind. The other man only flinched in surprise, but didn't complain.
Scriabin made a small noise from the back of his throat, a sort of strangled moan that he tried to swallow as the other man began to place small kisses on the back of his neck.
"God Edgar, can't you even wait until we're lying down? " Scriabin purred, arching into the touch, feeling a chuckle escape him as Edgar's hands began fumbling at his shirt, unbuttoning it.
Edgar's lips brushed the pale skin of Scriabin's neck, reveling in its warmth and the taste of salt. He licked up to his ear and took the lobe between his lips, sucking and scraping it gently with his teeth. Scriabin's sharp intake of breath made him laugh affectionately as his hands sought to grip the back of the couch in an attempt to keep himself grounded..
"Sorry, I couldn't help it," Edgar exhaled as he unfastened the last button, a shiver of anticipation running through Scriabin's body.
Scriabin paused mid step as his shirt fell open and Edgar's hands splayed over his chest. He arched into the touch, sucking in a breath between his teeth. One hand reached out blindly, gripping onto the back of the couch to keep himself grounded as Edgar stepped up closer, suggestively pressing his growing erection between his cheeks.
"Ah, Edgar. If you had wanted it this way, you should have said so sooner," Scriabin chided coyly as he swayed his hips back and forth.
Edgar groaned softly, still trying to keep a measure of control. One of his hands slid down along Scriabin's front, stopping at his hip to keep it still as he ground into him once before continuing on its journey. Scriabin let out an anticipatory gasp as he felt it dip below his pants and slide around his shaft in a gentle grip.
"You know I can be, most accommodating for you," he breathed, his voice going soft as Edgar stroked him slowly in time with his grinding. It was still slower than he would've preferred, but he couldn't deny that this too was pleasant.
When he’d worked Scriabin semi-hard, his fingers traveled down, massaging Scriabin’s balls, and the reaction was so immediate, Scriabin arching into the touch, a soft gasp escaping him. Edgar loved Scriabin like this, so pliant in his hands, completely under his control, every reaction to his touch honest. He rubbed a finger against Scriabin’s perineum, inching toward his hole, the taste of his arousal seeping into the air slowly, something to be savored. Edgar ’s hips ground against Scriabin’s ass, seeking more friction.
"Nghh... damn it Edgar, if you're going to keep doing this, we'd better get to the couch," Scriabin whined, exhaling loudly as Edgar bit and sucked on his neck.
"Unless, you plan on fucking me right here?" Scriabin inquired, pivoting his hips so that he pressed against him.
Edgar's grip spasmed tighter, fighting the sudden urge to rip his clothes. It was only the piercing thought that Scriabin would not like his clothes ruined that stayed his hand, something that actually surprised him. Edgar was not known for being a forceful man.
Before his resolve to keep him intact crumbled, Edgar pulled away. The wanton sigh of disappointment at his separation tightened Edgar's gut. He loved feeling wanted. More so when it came from Scriabin, who claimed to want no one.
"Edgar?" Scriabin called when he realized that Edgar had paused. He looked over his shoulder, smirking knowingly at the out of breath and slightly dazed expression in his eyes. Then he blinked, locking eyes with him as the spark of focus resurfaced.
"Come on," Edgar said, pulling Scriabin by the hand. Scriabin chuckled as he was guided around to the front of the couch.
Edgar took the lead, backing up and pulling Scriabin with him. They clumsily made their way to the front of the couch, making progress between heated kisses. Scriabin fell onto it first, Edgar quickly followed, giving in to every urge as he kissed down his neck and over his chest. He took a nipple in his mouth and Scriabin practically whimpered, his legs spreading wider under Edgar’s hips, his back arching up off the sofa.
Edgar took it as a good sign to keep things going and slid one hand up Scriabin’s thigh, giving him a signal and plenty of time to object as he continued with his mouth on the sensitive part of his chest. He pushed his hand between Scriabin’s legs and squeezed, eliciting a breathy moan from his partner's mouth. He’s so hard, Edgar felt his own dick throb with interest as he caressed him teasingly over his pants, pressing down the heel of his palm to make Scriabin gasp like that again.
“Get them off,” Scriabin ordered and for once, Edgar was quick and precise to follow instructions. Lifting his hips to allow Edgar to remove his pants and underwear with one tug, they tossed them aside by the pile of books on the floor. "Take yours off too before I change my mind."
He watched as Edgar removed his own clothes, taking the opportunity to get himself comfortable. No sooner had he rested his head against the armrest than Edgar returned. However he didn't come up for a kiss like Scriabin had thought he would. It seemed something had caught his attention as he knelt on the far cushion.
"Jesus Edgar," he hissed in surprise when he felt lips surrounding his eager erection. He looked down and immediately had to look away.
"Sorry, you just looked so good. I wanted a taste," Edgar murmured before running his tongue up the length.
"Ah, fuck. Edgar. What are you doing? You think you can tease me like this?"
Scriabin kept talking, like always, but Edgar ignored his insults, petty as they were. He could tell, from the way he shivered at the slightest touch, to the way he clung to fistfulls of Edgar's hair as he swallowed him down. Scriabin wanted this. He wanted Edgar. And Edgar was happy to give him what he wanted.
Scriabin settled back on the couch, fully intent to enjoy the show. Edgar looked like a consummate professional, bracing himself on one elbow and using his hand to keep his hair out of the way. This offered Scriabin an unfettered view of his handsome profile, of his cheeks as they hollowed and bulged, of the way his lips curled in as he worked. Half the pleasure he felt was taking in all these little details, not dimmed in the slightest by how many times he’d had the privilege of such sights.
The other half was the sensations. The scrape of Edgar ’s beard against Scriabin’s thighs in counterpoint to his swollen lips. His huffs of breath, hot, though not as hot as the wet cavern of his mouth, his slick tongue. Suction tight, tight, tight around his cock, all around was soft and wet with the maddening threat of teeth. Strong fingers, calloused, gripping him steadily and ready to keep him from thrusting up suddenly. Every hum and rumble and moan, felt more than heard, each serving to send his blood rushing and his brain fuzzy.
"Jesus Edgar, where did you learn that?" Scriabin whispered, straining to maintain his composure. Both hands were fervently gripping Edgar's hair, still trying to maintain some control.
"Guess" Edgar groaned after releasing Scriabin's erection with an obscene pop, his hand drifting downward, fingers ghosting over Scriabin's entrance.
"I knew it. You had some other lover before me. There's no way you were-," Scriabin ranted halfheartedly, his voice clipping out as Edgar's probing digit circled once before pressing in experimentally.
"Is that what you tell yourself whenever I do something you don't expect?" Edgar inquired, eyes locked on for his reactions, adjusting as needed to prevent any discomfort.
"Ah, shut up. You don't know me," Scriabin countered thoughtlessly, his breath hitching as Edgar widened him further.
"Now who's in denial?" Edgar pressed as he took his weeping head between his lips once more. Scriabin swallowed back a sob at the sensation. "You're it. Scriabin. My only."
"My dearest, Scriabin," he said, utterly delighted when Scriabin hiccupped with surprised pleasure. But he should have learned by now that Edgar didn't waste his breath on lies or useless platitudes; he honestly thought Scriabin was beautiful. He certainly didn't deserve to have the man here like this, but damn if he wasn't going to appreciate Scriabin as much as he could.
"Funny you should say that when you have your fingers up my ass," Scriabin snorted, trying his best to redirect the conversation, he was known to dislike sappy talk and even less so when they are having sex.
Edgar was aware of the heavy breathing and moans that sometimes bordered on whimpering when he added a second finger to the caresses, but when he finally curved both and pressed hard, everything reached a new level of mortification. What came out of Scriabin’s mouth at that moment was more of a pleading sob than a sensual whimper.
"There?" Edgar blinked, trying not to short-circuit at the sight of Scriabin frankly quivering with pleasure in front of him.
Scriabin simply bit his lip and nodded, eyes closed as Edgar repeated the motion inside him over and over again. At this point, Edgar was so aroused he thought he might pass out, but he couldn't turn his attention to anything other than making the man beneath him feel as good as possible. Watching him gasp and moan was doing something to Edgar's heart that he didn't know if he could recover from.
Strings of tension seized Scriabin's body, forcing his muscles taut the more Edgar worked. He felt more than ready by the time another finger joined the rest.
"Edgar," Scriabin pleaded, unable to voice his desire more succinctly than that. Already he felt like he was teetering on an edge near pain. Edgar wasn't that skilled or finessed to draw out that feeling, but God he knew how to hit it home. Scriabin was thankful for that at least.
Then he felt that delightful mouth once more and his voice suddenly could not hold back. Nonsensical words slipped out, ones he hated himself for letting out merely for their sheer honesty.
"Fuck! Edgar, yes. Just like that! Yes!" He cried, hips desperately thrusting up into his mouth.
Edgar let loose a low hum as he swallowed him down as best he could. He wanted to be inside him so badly, but the need to see him undone first was too powerful.
"Ngh...Edgar...fuck me now, Ah!" Scriabin practically begged, his voice trembling. Edgar was mesmerized by the hint of pleading that finally seeped through Scriabin’s words.
Edgar pulled away with a pop and grinned.
"That's not how you ask for things," Edgar hummed while pressing his fingers up to the knuckles again and tracing its edge with his thumb. Scriabin sighed shakily at that, a half moan coming from his throat as he stretched his neck to hide his pathetic, needy expression away from Edgar's view.
"Edgar, you can't..." Scriabin grit his teeth. "You're going to make me cum, just fuck me." He felt a shiver run up and down his spine as he felt Edgar swallow him completely once more, his fingers reaching for that magical place that made him see stars.
Scriabin’s hips thrust upward of their own accord, and then into his partner's fingers. He moaned, gasping and strangled, and for a moment all he wants to do was fuck himself on those fingers, but Edgar pulled them away before he could.
"Always in such a hurry," Edgar continued with a stupid grin, sitting up and settling himself properly in front of Scriabin.
As Edgar moved his head out of range, Scriabin was left with his hands empty. They clenched, unsure what to do but needing to hold something. After some indecisive motions, one grasped the cushion beneath him while the other braced with the back of the couch.
Meanwhile Edgar secured him about the waist, taking a steadying breath before guiding himself in.
"Oh fuck yea. That's what I want. Come on Edgar, you're almost there. Fuck me good," Scriabin said, pivoting his hips to take him in eagerly. The sound of him being so enticing, so needy, caused a deep flush to crawl up Edgar's neck, coloring his ears and face.
"I will, just. Give me a moment to adjust," he murmured, trying to keep his breath even. He didn't want to lose it before giving Scriabin what he wanted. “I don’t want to hurt you.”
"Hurry Edgar, oh don't keep me in suspense," Scriabin added coyly. He could see Edgar was near to letting that control go. He wished he'd do it already. That wild side was much more satisfying.
“Fuck me, Edgar .”
Those words lit a whole new kind of fire in him. Any hesitancy flew out the window as he pulled Scriabin closer and lined himself up. With the angle he wanted, he had to pull Scriabin up into his lap a bit. His heart pounded heavily as he realized Scriabin was allowing himself to be manhandled. The level of trust shown in that moment sobered him enough to steady his hands before planting one on the armrest for leverage and pushing forward.
Scriabin gasped at the initial breach then hiked one leg up over Edgar ’s hip, encouraging him to keep going.
“Fuck,” Edgar huffed, dropping his head against Scriabin’s shoulder. After a hesitant pause, he fully sheathed himself in Scriabin’s hypnotically tight heat. “It’s so good, it’s unbelievable.”
Scriabin was tight around him, but not so much that Edgar felt like he’s hurting him. Best of all, Scriabin’s arms were around him and his breath was hot and heavy in his ear. Like he really did enjoy having Edgar inside of him as much as Edgar enjoys being inside.
“Move,” Scriabin gasped, rolling his hips back against him and arching up. “It feels good, you can- ah!” He cried out uncharacteristically when Edgar snaped his hips forward, fucking into him in earnest.
“Ah god, yes! Just like that. Come on Edgar, rail me like the metro,” Scriabin said between thrusts.
Edgar paused, long enough to register what had just been uttered. Then he laughed and slammed into him again.
They both cursed at the jolting sensation the motion had caused.
“You say the most ridiculous things,” he panted as he increased the pace. The sound of colliding flesh quickly became a steady backdrop next to their labored breathing and wanton voices. Edgar kept his head near the crook of Scriabin’s neck, planting a kiss or licking his skin where he could reach.
"Nghh... I just wanted to get..get your attention," Scriabin replied, exhaling loudly as Edgar bit and sucked on his neck.
Edgar kept one hand on Scriabin's hips, holding him in place, so he could fuck him with sharp movements of his hips, leaning up to hit that sweet spot every time. He thought his heart was going to pound out of his chest at the sight of the way Scriabin reacted. It's better than his own pleasure, just watching the other boy writhe and gasp beneath him.
"Edgar," Scriabin moaned, head tilted back. The couch was going crazy under them, but Edgar didn't care if they broke it. "H-How are you... fuck, don't stop." His nails scraped Edgar's back and his legs wrapped around his waist, his breathing bordering on frantic as Edgar rocks against him.
"That's a ridiculous thing to say," Edgar gasped. "You always have all my attention," he continued, brushing their noses together to invite Scriabin in before kissing him again.
He kissed Scriabin like something precious, moaning and sighing against him, nibbling gently on his bottom lip and swallowing every sweet sound that came out. Everything felt so close. Scriabin's legs around his waist, his arms around Edgar’s shoulders, his tongue in his mouth and, of course, where their bodies come together again and again. They set the pace together, fast and deep, but not jerky. Frantic and passionate, but not too hard.
Scriabin continued to score Edgar's skin, satisfied in the way he hissed in pleasure at the slight pain. It paired well with the marks he was leaving on Scriabins. Each marking the other in their own way.
"God it's so good. I love the way you fuck me," Scriabin whispered, his voice sounding dry from all the vocalizing he'd been doin.
"Come whenever you want. I won't stop til you do," Edgar assured him, equally parched.
"Fuck, Edgar you can’t," Scriabin whined as Edgar lifted one of his legs higher so that it went over his shoulder.
"Watch me," he replied as he pushed even deeper within him. A sound closer to a sob was forced out of Scriabin then, something he had not intended. It was starting to happen already. It was giving him everything he needed, and his moans were getting desperate, delicious, his eyes rolling back in his head, jerking his hips back against him. Edgar didn’t think Scriabin could stop if he wanted to. His own face started to flush hard, he didn’t want it to end so soon. He focused the blood away from his cock and let his panting turn back to breaths, ignoring his own pleasure as he kept his attention on the human mess underneath him and just fucking him into a stupor.
“Fuck. Edgar . Edgar . Fuck...” One hand twisted violently into the cushions, the other clenching onto Edgar’s shoulder, nails biting in hard, and Edgar moaned in response.
“You...” Scriabin got out. “You’re holding back. Fuck me like you mean it. Fuck me like you hate me.”
Edgar let out a harsh breath and paused for a moment. He was going to have to go hard enough to try and hurt him.
That was fine by him.
He rammed into him so hard that Scriabin was already coming from the shock of it. Hips slammed against him. Scriabin’s leg fell off Edgar's shoulder from the force of each thrust that the sounds coming out of him were more of pain than of pleasure. It was with Edgar ’s fingers digging into his hips that he started to spurt, once, twice, and then just jerk slickly, no more long strings to come, but still hard pulses of pleasure and one long string of moans.
A few more firm thrusts, then Edgar slowed to a stop. Moments passed filled with their heaving breaths and spasming limbs. Their bodies radiated heat from the exertion, leaving them flush and tender.
Scriabin let out an airy, nearly voiceless chuckle. However his satisfaction was cut short as a couple tears splattered onto his cheek. It was then that Edgar sat back on his haunches, his waning erection still buried within him.
"I can't believe you said that," he whispered, one hand hurriedly trying to wipe away the tears as more sprouted.
"What? That I called you out for holding back from fucking me with all you had? Why is that so surprising? I don't half ass this. If anything, it's me that should be surprised you do. It's like you don't even care if I'm enjoying myself," Scriabin replied offhandedly.
"No! I mean, yea I'm careful because I don't want to hurt you. But that's not what I meant. I meant about, doing it like I hate you. I don't, Scriabin. Hate you, I mean. I don't think I could do something like this with you, if I did."
Scriabin looked at him with wide eyes as he tried to catch his breath. When he could register Edgar's words he only let out an irritated sigh. He hadn't expected to go back to the senseless drama again, especially not after what they had just performed.
"God, you're so sensitive sometimes," Scriabin breathed out tiredly. Using his hands to propel himself up and manage to sit up. Despite his trembling and exhausted body, he was able to position himself in Edgar's lap, a hum bubbling up from his throat, mirroring that of a constrained moan as Scriabin shifted his hips slightly. Edgar was still hard and Scriabin could tell.
"But you..." Edgar stopped as Scriabin's hands cupped his face, his thumbs wiped away his tears being careful not to brush against his scars. Edgar anchored himself to that sensation, managing to stop his sobs for a moment.
"I know, I didn't mean it that way, besides..." Scriabin retorted , moving close enough to press their chests together. "Who could hate me, I'm irresistible." Scriabin teased, an uncharacteristic smile on his lips as he kept his hold on Edgar's face.
Big moist eyes stared up at Scriabin. The tension in his chest eased as each breath synchronized so their chests stayed connected. You're being silly, Edgar thought to himself. Don't ruin these moments.
A soft conceding laugh escaped from between Edgar's lips. His arms lifted to cross over his back, pulling Scriabin against him in a snug hug.
"I could think of a few," Edgar admitted, his eyes shifting away guiltily.
"Well don't. Any person that popped into your little head wouldn't be worth the brainpower," Scriabin retorted, keeping a firm hold on his face so Edgar could not shy away from him. Then he shifted his hips strategically, not wanting Edgar to look so troubled all of the time.
"Stop over thinking things so much. Aren't we here to have a good time?" he inquired, ghosting his lips across Edgar's lower lip.
He couldn’t possibly deny this man anything. But first –
“Just let me…” Scriabin lifted on his knees so that just the head of Edgar ’s dick was still inside him, not stopping the motion of his hips but keeping them shallow, and leaned forward for a kiss. Edgar met him halfway and it was as sweet as their first kiss. So at odds with what they were doing, but so fitting for this ridiculously endearing man.
Scriabin didn't realize he was stealing little kisses from him until Edgar groaned, his hands making a path down to his lower back until they were positioned tightly on the other man's cheeks "Scriabin..."
He tucked Edgar's bangs behind his ears, while stroking his cheekbones apologetically. "Now who's in a hurry?" Scriabin leaned back in his position. The smile he'd thrown Edgar had been meant to reassure him, but he suspected it came out more smug. "Hang on."
The pace Scriabin imposed was more or less brutal, as he was pursuing a particular target as quickly as possible. The effect was immediate. Edgar was no longer quiet in his appreciation, no longer biting back his groans. He was loud and unabashed when he praised Scriabin's beauty, his skill, his whole existence. It was enough to distract Scriabin from the burning in his thighs and his clearly overstimulated nerves.
Thankfully he did not have to keep this up for long. Edgar quickly devolved to pleading, his voice taking on a more frantic quality that allowed Scriabin to practically hear how close he was to climaxing.
"That's it. Give it to me Edgar. Give me what I want," Scriabin demanded as he bounced heavily on his lap. The force of their meeting rattled in their bones and Scriabin couldn't help the pleased sigh that accompanied it.
"Wh-what?" Edgar desperately tried to say, but every attempt was broken by the constant stream of sound Scriabin pulled from him. He was like a master composer and Edgar his chosen instrument. He knew just what to do, where to touch, how much pressure to apply, everything needed to make him sing his heart out.
"God damn it, you know what I want. Fucking do it already. Fill me up," Scriabin responded, the last words an earnest plea.
When his response was a choked laugh, Scriabin briefly feared that Edgar would leave him hanging. But then his long fingers closed over his cock and he cried out in relief as he was jerked off roughly. Edgar placed his free hand around the back of Scriabin's neck and his fingernails were probably biting into his skin, but he had no complaints. He encouraged Scriabin even more with every filthy endearment that came out of his mouth, every squeeze of his fist on Scriabin's cock, every look he managed to shoot Scriabin with glowing brown eyes.
"I'll try my best then," Edgar murmured, his voice growing deeper, darker. "To fill you to the brim." Scriabin could barely hear him over the slippery sounds of their bodies or the ringing in his ears.
And fill him was what Edgar did.
Scriabin's toes curled as he trembled and squirted, as his movements became stilted and erratic, as white-hot pleasure coursed through his veins (and between their bodies). Edgar followed close behind, leaning Scriabin further back and fully holding his body as he fucked him. If possible, Scriabin might have come again from the unbridled force of his thrusts; a final spurt of semen spurted from his cock as Edgar penetrated deeply and stayed there.
Scriabin could feel it, feel his belly swell slightly to the pulsing beat of Edgar as he pumped his seed. Edgar's grip on him seized, holding him in place for a few moments, his breath held. Then after a few rapid heartbeats, as if a spell had broken, he relaxed and breathed again.
Edgar leaned back against the couch's armrest, pulling Scriabin along with him. Despite the fluids on and in them, Edgar held him close as he tried to catch his breath.
"See? I knew you could do it," Scriabin sighed, patting his arm weakly as he let himself rest on Edgar's warm chest. When Edgar didn't answer right away, Scriabin lifted his head enough to look upon him.
Edgar looked dazed, his eyes unfocused and gazing towards the ceiling as if he was about to fall asleep. The sight of him filled Scriabin with satisfaction.
"So. Should I give you five minutes to recover, or are you spent already?" he queried, propping his chin up with one arm.
Edgar moaned as if shaking off the residue of his orgasm and immediately felt particularly vulnerable, he didn't know if it was the intensity of what they had just done, or the lack of sleep that prevented him from rationalizing his emotions, he just knew he didn't want to let Scriabin go. That thought brought a couple of tears to his eyes as he lightly squeezed Scriabin closer to him.
"Are you... are you all right?" Edgar asked between shaky exhalations, in a clear effort to look and sound normal and not like he was about to pass out. Scriabin at first looked at him with a surprised expression, then let out a small laugh at the ridiculousness of the question.
"I should ask that, don't you think?" replied Scriabin, one of his hands went to his face, preventing more tears from moistening the wounds under his lover's eyes. He thought about changing the bandages before placing a soft kiss on his cheek. That single action made Edgar's heart squeeze.
"So... Ready for a second round?"
Edgar felt a stray tear escape his tired eyes. He spoke shakily. "There's no way I can do this again, at least not right away."
"What I'm hearing is that you could do it again, if you had a little time to collect yourself," Scriabin replied, his words slow and soft. The sharp exhale of a voiceless laugh made him hopeful.
"I want the opportunity to return the favor," he added, pressing open mouthed kisses leisurely down the center of his chest. The thump of Edgar's heart felt like it was kissing back, the way it pressed against his lips with each pulse.
"I take it you're still not satisfied?" Edgar replied, more teasing than hurt. Scriabin smiled against his skin, relieved to hear that spark of life that proved Edgar wasn't a complete bore.
“Not yet darling, not yet.”
*~*~*~*
Image provided by Brusk
