Jesse Pinkman (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
heisenbitch) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
thisavrou_log2016-11-28 02:21 am
heisenbitch) wrote in thisavrou_log2016-11-28 02:21 am
closed
Who: Jesse Pinkman & Ronan Lynch; Jesse Pinkman & Joseph Kavinsky; Jesse Pinkman & Noah Czerny; Jesse Pinkman & Andyr Prince. (Will set up more starters if anyone wants one!)
When: Post-Moira crash into the Midway Hub
Where: Around the camp set up
What: #justpostwhatthefuckthings
Note: Warnings for swearing and other stuff I'll edit in if necessary. If anyone wants to do post-crash things with Jesse, shoot me a PM and I'll toss up a starter for you!
When: Post-Moira crash into the Midway Hub
Where: Around the camp set up
What: #justpostwhatthefuckthings
Note: Warnings for swearing and other stuff I'll edit in if necessary. If anyone wants to do post-crash things with Jesse, shoot me a PM and I'll toss up a starter for you!
☲ closed to ronan
[ One of the things Jesse managed to salvage of his own belongings from the Moira was the tent he'd received upon being promoted to Tiruncula rank a month or so ago. It's pitched shoddily among other crew members' tents pitched nearby, a slipshod effort on Jesse's part with how little he really knows about camping. Not that it matters, not that Jesse even cares. Hours have blurred on by since the ship went down, and Jesse has steadily descended from blind adrenalised terror into a state of shock-induced apathy; all the horrific things he's seen has anesthesised him into an eerily indifferent calmness.
Sitting crosslegged just outside his tent, there's a cigarette dangling between his lips, smoke drifting up from the lit end, while he's washing his hands in a dented camping saucepan of water that he'd managed to acquire. Barefoot and dressed in just his filthy jeans, his equally filthy blood-caked t-shirt is lying in a heap beside him. The water is cold, shocking against his skin; goosebumps rise across his arms and chest as he scrubs water up along his forearm, washing away dirt and dried blood as best he can with what little water he has available to him. He focuses on the task like he hasn't got a care in the world, like nothing horrific or traumatising has taken place.
Realising someone is approaching him, slowing down in front of him, Jesse glances up with a puff on his cigarette. It's Ronan. Smoke billows from around the cigarette pursed between his lips as Jesse peers up at Ronan with a look that's full of acknowledgement, yet unreactive; that same eerily indifferent calmness. Turning his attention back down to what he's doing, he remarks around his cigarette with a curt casualness that's entirely out of place with the whole situation: ]
'Sup?
Sitting crosslegged just outside his tent, there's a cigarette dangling between his lips, smoke drifting up from the lit end, while he's washing his hands in a dented camping saucepan of water that he'd managed to acquire. Barefoot and dressed in just his filthy jeans, his equally filthy blood-caked t-shirt is lying in a heap beside him. The water is cold, shocking against his skin; goosebumps rise across his arms and chest as he scrubs water up along his forearm, washing away dirt and dried blood as best he can with what little water he has available to him. He focuses on the task like he hasn't got a care in the world, like nothing horrific or traumatising has taken place.
Realising someone is approaching him, slowing down in front of him, Jesse glances up with a puff on his cigarette. It's Ronan. Smoke billows from around the cigarette pursed between his lips as Jesse peers up at Ronan with a look that's full of acknowledgement, yet unreactive; that same eerily indifferent calmness. Turning his attention back down to what he's doing, he remarks around his cigarette with a curt casualness that's entirely out of place with the whole situation: ]
'Sup?
☲ closed to kavinsky
[ On the very outskirts of the makeshift camp set up by all the crew, away from the bustle of crew members and the grim reminders of everything that led up to the ship crashing, Jesse loiters in near darkness, smoking one of his last cigarettes. The only light thrown on him comes from the camp itself, dim and indistinct; the tip of his cigarette glows red and bright in the murky shadows with each drag.
That shock-induced apathy hasn't really lifted. As he stands on the edge of the camp, he watches the camp from this safe distance with an impassive casualness. Disconnected from it all, like a spectator to a situation that he's watching on a screen rather than a part of. That's not to say there isn't an endless hum of trembling anxiety trapped beneath the surface, waiting to tear through his bubble of indifference; that's not to say that his hands aren't constantly sweaty, or that his heart isn't constantly racing. But he seems disconnected even from that.
He stands slouched on the spot, hand shoved in his pocket, other hand bringing his cigarette up for a drag and then dropping away to his side with a flick of ash. It's like he's standing on a street corner and not on the edge of a camp that's stranded on a planet on the edge of the universe. However, a noise nearby has Jesse snapping his head towards it, eyes suddenly alert and sharp. He exhales a plume of smoke, shoulders tensing up while he peers into the darkness. Another noise, like a twig snapping under someone's shoe. ]
...Hey, who the fuck's there, yo?
That shock-induced apathy hasn't really lifted. As he stands on the edge of the camp, he watches the camp from this safe distance with an impassive casualness. Disconnected from it all, like a spectator to a situation that he's watching on a screen rather than a part of. That's not to say there isn't an endless hum of trembling anxiety trapped beneath the surface, waiting to tear through his bubble of indifference; that's not to say that his hands aren't constantly sweaty, or that his heart isn't constantly racing. But he seems disconnected even from that.
He stands slouched on the spot, hand shoved in his pocket, other hand bringing his cigarette up for a drag and then dropping away to his side with a flick of ash. It's like he's standing on a street corner and not on the edge of a camp that's stranded on a planet on the edge of the universe. However, a noise nearby has Jesse snapping his head towards it, eyes suddenly alert and sharp. He exhales a plume of smoke, shoulders tensing up while he peers into the darkness. Another noise, like a twig snapping under someone's shoe. ]
...Hey, who the fuck's there, yo?
☲ closed to andyr
[ A few days have passed since the crash, in whatever way that "days" can be defined on this alien planet. Where Jesse, during the first couple of days, had been eerily apathetic in the face of so much trauma and terror, that shock has been slowly subsiding, giving way to a benumbed yet anxious helplessness rotting away inside of him. The only thing for it has been to keep busy, and god knows there's plenty to do. Not that Jesse is skilled in any of the areas needed most, but if Mr. White taught him anything outside of manufacturing meth and applying himself, it's taking inventory.
So, that's what he's been doing: throwing himself into the task when and where he's needed. Taking stock of the supplies salvaged by noting each item down on a clipboard, and moving said supplies to designated inventory areas. He's an exhausted wreck, having barely slept, barely eaten, but keeping busy keeps the churning storm of helpless panic all knotted up inside him contained.
It's when the stocktaking hits a lull in productivity, while those in charge work out how to inventory new supplies recovered from the Moira, that Jesse, bitten with a desperate nicotine craving, heads through the makeshift camp to find a secluded spot. He hovers near the edge of a cluster of tents, cigarette pursed between his lips and lighter igniting the tip, and it's when he draws in a deep, grateful hit of cigarette smoke that his eyes land on a familiar face. Andyr, sitting alone. A face Jesse hasn't been able to forget. Unspeakable horrors he hasn't been able to forget. Jesse hangs back, loitering in the dim shadows, wondering if he ought to approach the guy at all. And then, eventually, he hesitantly starts towards Andyr. ]
Hey, man.
[ An equally hesitant greeting as he comes to a stop at a respectful distance from Andyr. ]
So, that's what he's been doing: throwing himself into the task when and where he's needed. Taking stock of the supplies salvaged by noting each item down on a clipboard, and moving said supplies to designated inventory areas. He's an exhausted wreck, having barely slept, barely eaten, but keeping busy keeps the churning storm of helpless panic all knotted up inside him contained.
It's when the stocktaking hits a lull in productivity, while those in charge work out how to inventory new supplies recovered from the Moira, that Jesse, bitten with a desperate nicotine craving, heads through the makeshift camp to find a secluded spot. He hovers near the edge of a cluster of tents, cigarette pursed between his lips and lighter igniting the tip, and it's when he draws in a deep, grateful hit of cigarette smoke that his eyes land on a familiar face. Andyr, sitting alone. A face Jesse hasn't been able to forget. Unspeakable horrors he hasn't been able to forget. Jesse hangs back, loitering in the dim shadows, wondering if he ought to approach the guy at all. And then, eventually, he hesitantly starts towards Andyr. ]
Hey, man.
[ An equally hesitant greeting as he comes to a stop at a respectful distance from Andyr. ]
☲ closed to j
[ It's late, dark. Half the camp is asleep, or at least trying to sleep, in their cramped little tents and makeshift shelter fashioned out of salvageable materials from the Moira. Jesse isn't asleep, though. Sitting outside his tent, he's chewing on his fingernails anxiously in between taking drags of his cigarette, looking this way and that. Seeming to be looking out for someone. That someone being Daisy. He hasn't seen her and he doesn't know where she is, and he can't seem to contact her over the MID. He's worried. She knows where his tent is, though, having camped with him in it the first night of the crash. It's why he's sitting here waiting for her, looking out for her: maybe she'll show up.
As he takes another edgy drag of his almost-finished smoke, everything about him seeming restless and fidgety even though he's sitting still, he throws a glance the other way and spots J up ahead. Heading towards him, it would seem. ]
As he takes another edgy drag of his almost-finished smoke, everything about him seeming restless and fidgety even though he's sitting still, he throws a glance the other way and spots J up ahead. Heading towards him, it would seem. ]
no subject
That little touch of Ronan's fingers sneaking up under his shirt, though - it's barely there, yet it's sharp and bright like fingernails being dragged across that very spot. If Ronan were a woman, Jesse wouldn't think twice about pushing his hand into those jeans, wouldn't think twice about leaning down and claiming that mouth. He'd be heady, dizzily aroused, eager to stoke the promise of coked-out sex.
What he'd give to feel warm hands on him. Anybody's hands. Anybody who wants him. A sudden heaviness starts to swell in the base of his balls at the thought of getting off. He could jerk off later to relieve tension but he feels alive and hedonistic now; and there's something... extremely hedonistic about making Ronan - this tough, impenetrable, magnificent, terrifying creature, who allows himself no pleasure - weak with desire. How human it makes him.
Jesse runs his tongue across his top lip while staring down at Ronan through the near blackness, then the hand he'd just yanked out of Ronan's pocket moves Ronan's waist. With tentative curiosity, that hand travels down, down, until it's sliding over the hard swell of Ronan's erection trapped beneath his jeans; an entirely alien sensation to Jesse, to be touching a man there. Knowing exactly what feels good, though, he's groping with a kneading squeeze that never fails to get himself hard whenever he's fondled himself like that. ]
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He still doesn't quite, as his addled mind skips from moment to moment and seems to be missing the parts in between. Fireworks, then wrestling, then a fingernail, and now this. The hand feels good, that's all he knows. When it squeezes him, his hips jerk and he ruts up against Jesse's hand, a soft whimper escaping his throat. If Jesse wanted to see him helpless, he's already there. Lying in the dirt, staring up at the darkness with heavy-lidded eyes, being felt up by someone he can hardly see.]
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Jesse leans over Ronan, forehead dropping to his chest , hand rubbing up and down, kneading and coaxing Ronan's hips to rut up into his hand. The flittering worry that this makes him a faggot - feeling up a guy like this - bounces around inside his amped up head, so he shuts his eyes. Just pretend. Just go with it. And with that thought at the fore of his mind, Jesse turns his face up and his lips meets the scratchy, bristly stubble of Ronan's jaw.
His mouth grazes along it, his own bristles rough and scratchy against Ronan's skin, until his lips are by Ronan's ear. ]
You can touch me if you want to. [ Murmured; a low, coaxing hum against Ronan's ear, while his hand keeps kneading, rubbing, palming Ronan's hardness in gradual increasing confidence. ]
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But it is. Jesse's hand is there, undeniable, massaging his length and sending shocks of heat through his nerves. It continues to draw quiet sounds from Ronan's throat. Vulnerable, but unmistakably boyish and not remotely girlish. There will be no pretending.
Blindly, Ronan's hands begin to travel. The left glides up under Jesse's shirt and over his bare chest, feeling pronounced ribs that remind Ronan of Adam before finding a nipple to tease with his thumb. The right slides down over Jesse's clothed thigh, following a seam along his jeans until Ronan finds his cock. It's on its way to full hardness, which surprises Ronan even though the time for surprises should probably have passed.
With the clumsy touch of a virgin, Ronan starts to stroke it. He can tell he's not doing as skilled a job as Jesse, especially because his hand is trembling, but it's a touch that conveys admiration. Ronan is impressed and maybe even intimidated by Jesse. He is, Ronan's just realizing now, a grown man. An extremely attractive one.]
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That guilt dissolves into the background as Ronan's fingers trail their ticklish way up his ribs, and Jesse exhales a small, shuddering breath against Ronan's ear at the toying tug at his nipple. Even if Ronan hadn't told him that he was a Catholic boy with strict rules about touching himself, disgusted at the thought of touching himself, Jesse can easily tell how inexperienced Ronan is in the fumble of his trembling hands, in his nervousness. Jesse rocks his hips into that touch between his legs, pressing his burgeoning cock into Ronan's palm. Taking his hand away from Ronan's crotch, Jesse presses that hand up against Ronan's, urging him to grope him, touch him, to not be afraid of pleasure.
Holding Ronan's hand firm to his crotch, Jesse rocks into his palm with a slow, luxurious grind. Like sex comes completely naturally to him, like it's something he doesn't fear at all. Even if this is a guy that he's with. He's not letting himself think about that. Somehow, Ronan being utterly, hopelessly virginal about this, with those soft little whimpers of his and his eager, experimental touch, makes it far easier for Jesse to just go with it. ]
Don't be afraid. [ Again, murmured into Ronan's ear, low and deep. ] Just do whatever feels good. [ Another grind of his cock into Ronan's hand while still holding it there for him, showing him. And then, because Jesse most certainly wants to snort another hit: ] Want another bump?
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Ronan's not afraid right now, just seized with a desire he doesn't know how to handle. The Catholicism everyone likes to laugh at him about? This is where it usually kicks in. It stops mistakes from happening, the things he wants but knows he'll regret later. Unfortunately, cocaine is so much more powerful than God, and now Jesse's hand his guiding his hand, so there isn't even the space for hesitation. Ronan's in a daze while Jesse manipulates his fingers and thrusts into his palm, whispering reassurances into his ear. It does feel good. Everything feels good. How did he get here again?]
Y-Yeah.
[More drugs. Sure. He could use the confidence. He's not sure if he's supposed to stop stroking Jesse or keep doing it while he searches for the cocaine. Ronan opts to keep doing it, more fascinated than anything else.]
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Jesse leaves Ronan's palm against his crotch and snakes a hand down into Ronan's pocket, where Ronan's excitement bulges into the cramped space while Jesse's fingers snag the 8-ball. He pulls it free, and he sneaks it down between their bodies to slip it into Ronan's hand pressed to his groin. As much as Jesse likes getting high, he enjoys watching others getting high even more. Of course, it's not quite the same, to be enticing Ronan with a drug he didn't cook - the rush of watching others get high on his own creation is like none other - but the sick part of him enjoying watching Ronan cave to the high of being so aroused is thrilling enough.
8-ball in Ronan's possession now, Jesse's own hand is then immediately moving down to seek out Ronan's excitement through his jeans once more; a deliberate kneading rub. At the same time, he's sliding off Ronan to the ground beside him. Wordlessly enticing Ronan to keep giving in. Wanting to lose himself in Ronan wanting him. His pulse is racing. His breathing has picked up. He doesn't care anymore that this is a guy he's seducing here: a mouth is a mouth, a hand is a hand, even if it's an entirely inexperienced one. ]
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This is good. This is good. He can do this. His cock twitches hard against Jesse's hand, but since it'll be moving soon to tend to the cocaine, Ronan switches places and reaches over to grab at Jesse again. This time he's surer of himself and what he wants, fingers tugging at the loose waist of Jesse's jeans to pull them down and expose him.]
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He's pulling his shirt up over his chest at the same time Ronan is dragging his jeans down, and he finally starts digging his fingers into the 8-ball of coke. Gathering up a generous pinch between his forefinger and thumb, he's bringing it down to his stomach, where he sprinkles a hasty, crooked line of coke just above his navel. Another hit for Ronan. Enticing him further, encouraging him, enabling him. An invitation for Ronan to use him however Ronan wants to use him. ]
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His hands make their way to Jesse's exposed erection while his chin is still resting against Jesse's abs. He glances up, trying to catch Jesse's expression, but the darkness has him in shadow, no feedback to be gleaned. He's not sure what he's supposed to do next, fingers working their way uncertainly along Jesse's length. Do whatever feels good, Jesse had said. But Ronan has no idea what feels good to a straight man. He only has a vague idea what feels good to any man.
Jesse's cock hovers only a few inches from Ronan's face, and he decides to try what seems like the most natural next step. He picks up his chin and eases closer, directing the thing to his mouth. His lips part but only to graze the head, bulbous and hot and smooth. His mouth doesn't quite close around it, feeling it out since it's too dark to see, giving him a sense of its size. His tongue slips out to give it a taste. When he finds that he likes it, he does it again, this time exploring in a half-circle around the head.]
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The darkness makes it easy to imagine it's a woman's hand. Dutch's hand, maybe, though she's far more experienced than Ronan's uncertain touch. If Ronan had any doubts about what Jesse, a straight guy, likes, there's absolutely no mistaking what it is he likes when the first glide of that mouth touches down on the most sensitive part of him.
Underneath Ronan, Jesse lets out a deep, soft groan. His back arches slightly and he fights back the urge to surge his hips up and push his cock deeper past those careful lips as they close around the head. Every half circle of Ronan's tongue tasting him makes his cock throb and flex up against that mouth, eager for more attention. Baggy of coke still clutched in one hand, Jesse's other hand reaches down and pushes through Ronan's short crop of growing hair; a hungry, yet almost tender touch. Keep going, his hand is clearly encouraging. ]
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His lips finally close around the tip, smearing saltiness across his tongue as he draws the head fully into his mouth. He sucks softly on it, stalling, trying to figure out where to go from here. Should he go deeper, or linger? It's hard to think anymore. Frustrating to try.
His hands are still gripping the base of Jesse's cock to hold it steady, and his fingers move now in a slow massage. Ronan knows, at least, the general idea behind jerking a guy off. More than he knows how to do it with his mouth, anyway.]
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Yeah... Like that. [ A low voice, heady with heavy breath. He tightens his hips, pushing his cock through Ronan's hands. A shuddering breath escapes him that makes it obvious Ronan is exciting him. And then, on impulse, Jesse is pushing a hand down between them to slide over the shape of Ronan's cock through his jeans. Fingers then starting to fumble with the button of Ronan's jeans. ]
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But Ronan is learning, at least. The stroking becomes more rapid. Ronan dips his head to take Jesse in just a bit deeper, maybe an inch. His tongue, thankfully, is eager to explore every curve and dip and throbbing vein.
His teeth accidentally graze when Jesse suddenly reaches between Ronan's legs. Only a light nip of surprise before he corrects himself. His mouth leaves Jesse's cock for only a moment so that he can readjust, his long body curling to put his own cock in Jesse's reach and make it easier to strip him down. Then he returns to sucking Jesse off.]
no subject
His fingers fumble Ronan's zipper down, then push into the plackets of his jeans. The hot, dry hardness of Ronan's bare cock is another shock altogether. Never in his lifetime did Jesse ever think he'd be touching another guy like this. Back at home, the thought would have repulsed him, would have made him flare up in homophobic defensiveness. That was back home, though, where his options in partners were limitless. Here, crash-landed on a fucking alien planet, beggars can't be choosers.
He suddenly very, very badly wants another bump of coke. Pulling his hand back out of Ronan's jeans, that same hand nudges Ronan's mouth away from his cock, and that same hand is pushing Ronan away from him. He's then hurriedly prepping himself a bump on the palm of his hand, which he snorts up hard and fast and desperately. The rush is instant, sending him soaring, his heart racing, his blood pumping, his cock aching. The baggy is quickly sealed up and set aside, then Jesse is turning to Ronan.
Rejuvenated with impulsive hedonism, he plunges his hand into Ronan's pants and takes hold of his erection with renewed confidence. He instantly starts pumping his hand up and down, expert only from the amount of times he's jerked himself off. At the same time, his mouth blindly seeks Ronan out through the darkness without thought, finding Ronan's neck in a heated, open-mouthed kiss. ]
no subject
That's a relief.
Once that's done, they're back at it, but it isn't what Ronan expected. Now it's Jesse grabbing hold of him, and doing it with shocking vigor. Ronan breathes gasping cries of pleasure, his body quaking with each jerk of Jesse's hand, and Jesse's mouth is against his throat, and he doesn't understand how but these two things are connected, enhancing the feeling of the other. And all things enhanced by the cocaine.]
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And now here he is: helpless, utterly human, stripped right down to nothing but gasping, shuddering pleasure. All over again, through the renewed cocaine high, Jesse finds himself feeling powerful, in charge. His whole world has narrowed down to just the coke rampaging through his bloodstream, the fierce pounding of his heart, the utterly primal urge of getting off. It's intoxicating; it's numbing absolutely every shred of turmoil all caught up inside him from everything that's happened, both back at home and since the Ingress pulled him in.
His mouth drags across Ronan's throat in a line of sucking kisses. Almost as suddenly as he'd begun stroking Ronan with such demand, his hand abandons Ronan's cock to grab at his hip. At the same time, Jesse, his cock aching for attention, is lying back on the ground, tugging Ronan towards him. It's utterly accidental that their erections brush against each other, swaying and heavy and hard. It sends a shockwave of surprise through Jesse, and without thinking, he rolls his hips forward to rub his cock against that hard, smooth, hot shaft. ]
no subject
So it's a surprise when it turns out to be something pleasantly familiar. Ronan's bare hips collide with Jesse's and a wave of heat follows as Jesse grinds up against him. Immediately, Ronan's hand darts between their bodies to grab hold of both of them. He can remember how good it felt when Andyr did it, and he's eager to try it for himself now. The result feels so amazing that it draws a shuddering moan out of him and his fingers slip before he gets a firmer grasp.
Slowly stroking the two of them together now, Ronan bows down to seek out Jesse's skin. He finds a collarbone and drags his lips across it until he reaches the more sensitive crook of Jesse's neck. He sucks and kisses experimentally, a mimicry of what Jesse was just doing to him, his mouth working a wet line to Jesse's jaw.]
SCREAMS hardly any of jesse's icons of his asshole face are appropriate for this HAHA
It's the intimacy of those lips starting to explore his neck that undoes him. Affection is something he always craves, be that affectionate words or affectionate touch, and being kissed is something he can never help melting into. The rough scratch of Ronan's bristles keeps that dirty, perverted feeling simmering under his skin, and between that and his pathetic desperation for affection, Jesse's hand comes up and pushes into Ronan's hair. He curls his fingers, tries to grip a handful of it, but there's not enough to grip properly onto.
Dragging his mouth, panting quietly, up to Ronan's ear, the side of his facing nuzzling into Ronan's exploring lips, Jesse hurriedly shifts his hips flush against Ronan's and thrust against Ronan's cock. God, it's so wrong. Doing this, out in the open where anyone could stumble across them. Suddenly, Jesse is a little more urgent. ]
Don't stop. God-- [ It feels so dirty, filth demanding, begging that into a guy's ear. ] Fuck, don't stop. [ Followed by a low, breathless noise, holding Ronan to him with fingers scratching down his scalp, down past his nape. ]
the icon struggle is real
And in return, Ronan's being driven out of his mind. Precome slicks his cock, and every time he glides against Jesse, it sends a shock through him and draws out a choked moan. He can hear himself, these whimpering little noises that make him sound younger than he is, and he'd be embarrassed by them if he were in any sort of normal frame of mind. But then he wouldn't be here at all.
He feels constantly on the verge of orgasm, which makes the pleasure nearly unbearable, but also frustrating. He can't seem to get there no matter how good it feels, and later he'll realize that was merely the fault of the drug, but in the moment he's blaming his lack of skill. His mouth finds Jesse's ear so he can plead:]
Will you do it? Touch me, or... God, just do anything. Fuck.
no subject
Working his hand underneath Ronan's, he nudges it away and takes over. Hand curving around Ronan's cock, Jesse presses it against his own and rocks his hips to slide and rub and thrust their dicks together.
At the same time, he's started kissing Ronan's neck again. He's getting greedy about it now; aggressive and hungry and commanding. Honestly, he wouldn't have a fucking clue what men like from other men, but it's not like he thinking about what Ronan likes. Seems Ronan likes anything, anyway - he seems endlessly on the edge of blowing his load, like an excited schoolboy getting laid for the first time, and isn't that a filthy, disgusting thought? The shame of what Jesse is doing is at war with how desperate he's craving affection.
Though he's aching for release, his hand ends up focusing only on Ronan's cock. Weird though the angle is to him, he jerks Ronan off the way he jerks himself off: fast, focused on the head, the swollen tip being expertly jerked within Jesse's loose grip. Even if Jesse has never been with a guy before, everything he's doing is practiced, experienced. All the while, Jesse is thrusting his own cock against Ronan's hip, starting to lean over him and forcing Ronan to roll onto his back. He's quickly half on top of Ronan, his forehead coming to rest against Ronan's forehead. ]
Like this? This how you like it? [ Murmured coaxingly, breathlessly. ] C'mon. Let go.
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It doesn't make sense that he's not coming yet. He feels like he's going to die in the throes of all these sensations, yet he also feels like his body is prepared to go on like this for hours. Maybe Jesse's broken him.
Suddenly he's on his back, and he doesn't know how he got there, but he's glad for it. It doesn't matter that he's by far larger in size than Jesse. Ronan likes lying beneath him, feeling trapped, with no choice but to give in to Jesse's will. Later, he's going to pray about this. For now, Jesse's husky voice is purring encouragement at him like some kind of devil. Ronan's lips graze Jesse's as he whispers back:]
It's too - It's too good...
[Which is the only way he can articulate what it feels like, and comes out more panicked than complimentary. As if he's honestly concerned his heart will stop the moment he hits his peak. Still, he's not calling for it to end, instead catching Jesse's mouth and slipping his tongue between his lips.]
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Jesse is determined to follow his own advice: just go with what feels good. Don't overthink it. Don't think at all. Just let it happen. And so, with Ronan's mouth meeting his, Jesse lets it happen. This - kissing - at least seems to be something Ronan knows how to do. Seems the Catholic boy might have been secretly halfway sinning and making out with boys behind the gym shed to learn how to kiss better than he can jerk off.
Excited by the effect and the power he's got over Ronan, Jesse gives Ronan what he wants: a deep, searching, heated kiss, tongue exploring Ronan's tongue and lips. It's so fucking weird kissing a guy, with Ronan's rough mouth and his rough stubble, but that all adds to the perversity of it all. His hand slows its strokes on Ronan's cock; slower, longer strokes. Eager for some relief on his own cock, Jesse shifts onto Ronan more, almost completely on top of him now, and his cock slides and slithers up alongside Ronan's. He fumbles them together with his hand and starts thrusting, and though he wants to jerk off, he wants to thrust, too.
So, his guiding hand ends up slapping on the ground for leverage as he starts thrusting in greedy, long rolls of his hips, their cocks nudging and rubbing and frotting and sliding together in a tangle of hot, dry hardness. If anyone saw them, all they'd see is Jesse's skinny bare ass thrusting and his jeans caught around his knees, shirt rucked up around his back, rutting like he's fucking Ronan. Probably would look like a quick, dirty fuck in the darkness. ]
Feels so fucking good. [ A breathless, purring agreement murmured against Ronan's panting mouth. It shouldn't feel thIs fucking good but it does. A filthy admission that might haunt his thoughts later. Unable to help himself, Jesse taunts as he ruts against Ronan faster, more greedily, harder, close to tipping over the edge: ] You gonna come? [ Another hungry, biting kiss to that gasping mouth beneath his, interrupted with a tugging bite of Ronan's lower lip and a further coaxing, whispering taunt: ] Say you wanna come, Ronan. Say you need it.
no subject
When Jesse starts to climb on top of him, he's struck again by the sense that he should be afraid. It would be easy for someone with Ronan's strength to toss Jesse off of him, but that isn't the point. The point is that he likes what Jesse's doing to him, likes it too much, and he might find himself falling over a line he won't be able to return from. As Jesse thrusts against him, Ronan's fingers drag down his chest, caught in the indecision between whether he should push Jesse off or not.
He does not. Mostly because he hears Jesse's irresistible voice again, his teeth biting at Ronan's lips. Ronan's response is a whimper:]
I n-need...
[Every jerk of Jesse's hips, every thrust of his cock against Ronan's, feels like it's interrupting the signal from Ronan's brain to his mouth, leaving him gasping each time.]
I want...
[He's going to die. He's going to die right here.]
I'm gonna come. I'm -
[Whether or not Jesse intended to cast a spell with those words, it works. Ronan's voice dissolves into moans, his whole body quaking as he orgasms. His hips roll against Jesse's and hot semen spills between them, shooting across Ronan's stomach in a violent burst.]
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Jesse's kisses grow aggressive, mindless, passionate, noises building and mounting in the back of his throat. The base of his cock starts tightening and spasming, and suddenly he's coming. He's helplessly loud and shameless, shaking whimpers trapped amongst growls of orgasmic pleasure joining in over the top of Ronan's defenselessly euphoric pleasure. Ropes of Jesse's semen spurt messily over Ronan's stomach and shirt. The smell of come almost instantly hits the air. The wet mess between their bodies grows slick and slippery and while Jesse ruts into the final few powerful clenches of his dick squeezing the last of his orgasm out of him.
Then he's slumping on top of Ronan in a breathless heap. Jesse's weakness immediately after sex is affection - a thing he always seeks foolishly, instinctively, which is what he does now. He presses his face pressing into Ronan's neck, nuzzling, blindly affectionate, hot breath billowing against Ronan's skin. ]
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