fanfic, warm. (o8)
title. warm
series. code geass
character/pairing. suzaku/lloyd
rating. R/NC-17
summary. coming undone.
notes. takes place sometime in R1 idk. it's been too long since i've written smut. also, this is is sort of dedicated to lewdness because reading her smut only encouraged me it's all your fauuult.
it's the feeling that you're falling
but there's a fine line between falling and flying; it's the feeling that you've lost it
♫ cloud cult; that man jumped out the window
They had nearly been to the point of yelling just a few moments earlier, so when he feels soft, cool lips pressing urgently against his own and strong hands gripping his upper arms to keep him in place, he can't help but be confused. It's a funny sort of feeling that twists in his stomach (and he's certainly no stranger to it, but not quite like this), and Suzaku's lips are dry and the older man finds that he smells very much like the army issue soap they keep stocked in the trailer's showers, and the more flowery, fragrant kind that Cecile always tries to replace it with. When a damp tongue darts out to meet with his bottom lip, he parts his mouth against good judgment and then the kiss turns very wet and rather sloppy (with no lack of enthusiasm). He tilts his head just slightly, pressing into it, encouraging it without really participating. This is all improvisation, he realizes, but he's no more experienced and he isn't about to let that knowledge out.
When Suzaku pulls back, face flushed, lips damp, pupils dilated - and his superior can't help but notice that it's quite a different side of him - is when Lloyd realizes that he had been holding on too, just as tightly, fingers curled firmly in the orange uniform fabric that lay about the boy's waist. He isn't sure why he's allowing this - isn't sure why he doesn't want to stop, or why he likes the way that this makes heat pool below his stomach, between his legs - but he is. There's only a moment's indecision in his expression before he schools it into something more recognizable: A smile, simple, almost teasing, almost predatory.
He thinks, absently, that he must be a hedonist if he's doing this just for pleasure, and then dips his head down to press his lips to younger ones.
There's no protest, and that's all the approval that he needs before he changes his grip. Not fond of the desperate way his fingers curl tight in Suzaku's clothes, he re-situates his hands so that one arm is curled around his shoulders and the other rests on his lower back, pulling him closer (and God, he's so, so warm it nearly makes him dizzy).
There isn't as much fervency in his return, still collected enough to think his movements through. His motions are cool and calculated for the moment as he endeavors to make sure that the boy is never privy to the fact that he's never done this before, not with anyone, not so much as a simple, chaste kiss. It makes him feel, deep inside some part of himself, like a clumsy child clamoring for something he doesn't really understand, but it's easy enough to disguise with misplaced confidence and years of self-assurance. It's how he's always operated and always will.
It feels as though it's been forever before he remembers that he can move his hands - it'd almost slipped his mind, with the way Suzaku's fingers keep fastidiously to his arms, like anything else would be an unwarranted invasion of space (hadn't he done that already? really, he would never understand the boy, but it was okay). So he takes the initiative, the fingers gripping his shoulders curling tighter, the hand on his back slipping down to cup the curve of his ass. He immediately feels the sharp intake of breath against his own lips, and then a second later the shaky way he lets that breath back out again, washing hot over his cheek, and he knows he did something right.
It's only another brief moment before the boy is clumsily pressing closer (-warm, so warm-), and Lloyd finds himself inhaling sharply when smaller hips press to his tentatively, and his devicer is shaking just slightly- because he's nervous, or because he thinks he's doing something wrong? Or maybe it's just that they're both shaking - so he presses back, fingers gripping tighter at the way that feeling makes the world spin inside his head. It doesn't matter though, it's enough for the boy to discard some amount of his shyness, and he presses back again, firmer this time, finally detaching his hands from his arms to rub them up and down his sides, his hips. Lloyd can't help the sound that spills from his mouth, and then they're pressing, rubbing, again and again, back and forth, in some clumsy semblance of rhythm. Their actions, their movements, are so instinctive and base - nothing at all like the elegant romance novels Cecile sometimes read - that he feels like some kind of animal (certainly not like anything human), and he can't bring himself to mind it. He'd spent so long coiled so tight that the thought of unraveling - coming untied - isn't a completely unattractive notion.
And he is going to come undone if things keep up like this, he thinks - he drags back some semblance of composure, pulling way from the hands gripping him, pulling him so tight. He glances a mixture of confusion and apprehension on the youthful face still so close to his, but he says nothing even as Suzaku manages to find his voice- just angles them over toward the bed, nudging them both in that direction until the boy falls back and he on top of him.
He halts any further inquiries by pressing their lips together again, hard, still riding on waves of impulsiveness (and they both were, apparently, because strong hands are grabbing at him again, pulling him close, and hips are urging against his own again as they quickly resume their previous urgency). There are few long moments of neither of them really knowing whose hands are where, and Lloyd can't help but think it's kind of nice, getting lost like this. He moans softly, breath hitching when trembling digits manage to part his coat and squirm up under his sweater, grazing up over the soft pale skin of his belly, his chest, to awkwardly thumb a nipple. His body arches, muscles pulling taunt and then taunter when another wandering hand finds its way inside his pants, slipping between them to slide over his cock and then curl long fingers around the organ, tugging in the same clumsy rhythm and causing more wanton sounds to be pulled unbidden from his throat. It's all he can do not to come right away when shaky fingers find the head, rubbing him in circles.
When the hips trapped beneath his own jerk hard and the other hand on him stops its desperate, almost gentle ministration to catch him and curl tight around the middle of his body, pulling him close, he realizes the same can be said for the boy. The lips pressed flush to his shoulder as he gasps and cries softly and comes with a hitch of breath, shifting to press his cheek there, breathing his name again and again is all that's required to take him apart the rest of the way. He says Suzaku's name when he orgasms, semen spilling onto his hand, biting it out, nearly shouting but holding himself back with the sudden unbidden remembrance that people will be able to hear them if they get too loud.
When he's done grinding their hips together, shuddering hard, he goes limp, panting heavily in the aftermath as he tries to catch his breath. It's too hot to keep laying on him like this, but there's still a firm (gentle) hand pressing against the skin of his back, holding him, and it destroys his urge to move. Suzaku's breaths are loud in his ears, and he wonders for a moment, as he lays there, what he's thinking.
It's of no consequence, however, and he finds that it matters to him even less when the boy's breathing evens out and he falls asleep under him. It tugs at some part of the older man that he didn't know he had - some newly born weakness - and he gently extracts himself from the loosened grip to lay more comfortably beside him.
And even as he lays there, limp, drowsy and falling fast asleep in turn, he still can't shake that warmth.
series. code geass
character/pairing. suzaku/lloyd
rating. R/NC-17
summary. coming undone.
notes. takes place sometime in R1 idk. it's been too long since i've written smut. also, this is is sort of dedicated to lewdness because reading her smut only encouraged me it's all your fauuult.
it's the feeling that you're falling
but there's a fine line between falling and flying; it's the feeling that you've lost it
♫ cloud cult; that man jumped out the window
They had nearly been to the point of yelling just a few moments earlier, so when he feels soft, cool lips pressing urgently against his own and strong hands gripping his upper arms to keep him in place, he can't help but be confused. It's a funny sort of feeling that twists in his stomach (and he's certainly no stranger to it, but not quite like this), and Suzaku's lips are dry and the older man finds that he smells very much like the army issue soap they keep stocked in the trailer's showers, and the more flowery, fragrant kind that Cecile always tries to replace it with. When a damp tongue darts out to meet with his bottom lip, he parts his mouth against good judgment and then the kiss turns very wet and rather sloppy (with no lack of enthusiasm). He tilts his head just slightly, pressing into it, encouraging it without really participating. This is all improvisation, he realizes, but he's no more experienced and he isn't about to let that knowledge out.
When Suzaku pulls back, face flushed, lips damp, pupils dilated - and his superior can't help but notice that it's quite a different side of him - is when Lloyd realizes that he had been holding on too, just as tightly, fingers curled firmly in the orange uniform fabric that lay about the boy's waist. He isn't sure why he's allowing this - isn't sure why he doesn't want to stop, or why he likes the way that this makes heat pool below his stomach, between his legs - but he is. There's only a moment's indecision in his expression before he schools it into something more recognizable: A smile, simple, almost teasing, almost predatory.
He thinks, absently, that he must be a hedonist if he's doing this just for pleasure, and then dips his head down to press his lips to younger ones.
There's no protest, and that's all the approval that he needs before he changes his grip. Not fond of the desperate way his fingers curl tight in Suzaku's clothes, he re-situates his hands so that one arm is curled around his shoulders and the other rests on his lower back, pulling him closer (and God, he's so, so warm it nearly makes him dizzy).
There isn't as much fervency in his return, still collected enough to think his movements through. His motions are cool and calculated for the moment as he endeavors to make sure that the boy is never privy to the fact that he's never done this before, not with anyone, not so much as a simple, chaste kiss. It makes him feel, deep inside some part of himself, like a clumsy child clamoring for something he doesn't really understand, but it's easy enough to disguise with misplaced confidence and years of self-assurance. It's how he's always operated and always will.
It feels as though it's been forever before he remembers that he can move his hands - it'd almost slipped his mind, with the way Suzaku's fingers keep fastidiously to his arms, like anything else would be an unwarranted invasion of space (hadn't he done that already? really, he would never understand the boy, but it was okay). So he takes the initiative, the fingers gripping his shoulders curling tighter, the hand on his back slipping down to cup the curve of his ass. He immediately feels the sharp intake of breath against his own lips, and then a second later the shaky way he lets that breath back out again, washing hot over his cheek, and he knows he did something right.
It's only another brief moment before the boy is clumsily pressing closer (-warm, so warm-), and Lloyd finds himself inhaling sharply when smaller hips press to his tentatively, and his devicer is shaking just slightly- because he's nervous, or because he thinks he's doing something wrong? Or maybe it's just that they're both shaking - so he presses back, fingers gripping tighter at the way that feeling makes the world spin inside his head. It doesn't matter though, it's enough for the boy to discard some amount of his shyness, and he presses back again, firmer this time, finally detaching his hands from his arms to rub them up and down his sides, his hips. Lloyd can't help the sound that spills from his mouth, and then they're pressing, rubbing, again and again, back and forth, in some clumsy semblance of rhythm. Their actions, their movements, are so instinctive and base - nothing at all like the elegant romance novels Cecile sometimes read - that he feels like some kind of animal (certainly not like anything human), and he can't bring himself to mind it. He'd spent so long coiled so tight that the thought of unraveling - coming untied - isn't a completely unattractive notion.
And he is going to come undone if things keep up like this, he thinks - he drags back some semblance of composure, pulling way from the hands gripping him, pulling him so tight. He glances a mixture of confusion and apprehension on the youthful face still so close to his, but he says nothing even as Suzaku manages to find his voice- just angles them over toward the bed, nudging them both in that direction until the boy falls back and he on top of him.
He halts any further inquiries by pressing their lips together again, hard, still riding on waves of impulsiveness (and they both were, apparently, because strong hands are grabbing at him again, pulling him close, and hips are urging against his own again as they quickly resume their previous urgency). There are few long moments of neither of them really knowing whose hands are where, and Lloyd can't help but think it's kind of nice, getting lost like this. He moans softly, breath hitching when trembling digits manage to part his coat and squirm up under his sweater, grazing up over the soft pale skin of his belly, his chest, to awkwardly thumb a nipple. His body arches, muscles pulling taunt and then taunter when another wandering hand finds its way inside his pants, slipping between them to slide over his cock and then curl long fingers around the organ, tugging in the same clumsy rhythm and causing more wanton sounds to be pulled unbidden from his throat. It's all he can do not to come right away when shaky fingers find the head, rubbing him in circles.
When the hips trapped beneath his own jerk hard and the other hand on him stops its desperate, almost gentle ministration to catch him and curl tight around the middle of his body, pulling him close, he realizes the same can be said for the boy. The lips pressed flush to his shoulder as he gasps and cries softly and comes with a hitch of breath, shifting to press his cheek there, breathing his name again and again is all that's required to take him apart the rest of the way. He says Suzaku's name when he orgasms, semen spilling onto his hand, biting it out, nearly shouting but holding himself back with the sudden unbidden remembrance that people will be able to hear them if they get too loud.
When he's done grinding their hips together, shuddering hard, he goes limp, panting heavily in the aftermath as he tries to catch his breath. It's too hot to keep laying on him like this, but there's still a firm (gentle) hand pressing against the skin of his back, holding him, and it destroys his urge to move. Suzaku's breaths are loud in his ears, and he wonders for a moment, as he lays there, what he's thinking.
It's of no consequence, however, and he finds that it matters to him even less when the boy's breathing evens out and he falls asleep under him. It tugs at some part of the older man that he didn't know he had - some newly born weakness - and he gently extracts himself from the loosened grip to lay more comfortably beside him.
And even as he lays there, limp, drowsy and falling fast asleep in turn, he still can't shake that warmth.