(APH Fic) Replay, 5/?
Pairing: Italy/Germany
Rating: M
Summary: The sequel to "Playtime." Feliciano wants it to happen again; wants the burn of leather, the slice of the whip, the more, Master, please, to become a part of their everyday lives.
Warnings: D/S, BDSM, smut.
Disclaimer: I do not own Axis Powers Hetalia, nor do I claim to. The following is a work of fiction.
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Ludwig’s wrists are bound and red, the joints grinding against one another, and his arms are thrown rapturously back behind his head. His white teeth are clamped down hard upon the slash of blue across his mouth, and his eyelids flutter ceaselessly, irises rolling wildly backwards in their socket of strained white. The deep red bitemarks on his neck and collarbones and his strong shoulders seem, to Feliciano, to glow against his pale and sweaty skin - yet he is flushed too, with effort and life and arousal, all forand all because of Feliciano - and this thought quickens his already pounding heartbeat, stirs his loins, sends hot rushes of pleasure up and down his spine...
He leans down closer to his lover, bending carefully at the waist.
“Ludi,” he whispers, and Ludwig’s eyes, melting in and out of focus, open up, and find his. “Ludi, you need me to stop, pull your arms back up, si?”
A moment - and Ludwig nods - and he arches up a little, his arms remaining tossed way back behind his head.
Feliciano bends in even closer, attempting to maintain the motions of his hips, snapping forwards, pulling out, up and down, in and out. It is clumsy, and he knows it is. Ludwig is so much better at this than him, he thinks. It is difficult to get just the right leverage, to push hard enough into his lover to make that little crease of ecstasy appear between his fair eyebrows, to make his throat open up, to drag that choked half-moan half-needy whine from between his bitten lips.
And yet, somehow, he still manages...Ludwig’s chest is heaving, and though the tie, previously employed as a blindfold, gags him, rendering him speechless and wanting, he can still hear short, breathless, lustful gasps crowding the back of the other’s throat, bleeding through the material in a hoarse, hungry plea for more, for relief, for pleasure, and for pain. Feliciano leans in close, and he sees how the veins on the backs of his hands stand up with sheer effort as he grabs the backs of Ludwig’s thighs, lifting them higher and spreading them apart, pounding in earnestly, as hard and as deeply as his position allows.
His lover’s throat moves, and a tiny whimper, a thin sound dragged harshly from the back of his throat meets Feliciano’s ears.
“Ludi,” he murmurs, bending even further - again, the rhythm is disrupted, but this time Ludwig spreads his legs without needing to be prompted, opening his body up to Feliciano’s - and so he nuzzles his nose into that sore, marked neck, pressing kisses in that sensitive spot right behind his left ear, before working his way down the sharp jut of the other’s jaw.
Ludwig groans softly in response, his head falling to the side without protest as Feliciano works upwards again, over the high sweep of one cheekbone. The kisses are soft now, not rough and biting like earlier...and as Feliciano’s tenderness increases, Ludwig’s moans soften, and his eyes, clouded, vacant, swimming, fall shut. Feliciano reaches for his lover’s leg, his left one, and hauls it upwards, curling it behind his own back. Ludwig moans through the gag, and Feliciano begins to push into him with less haste, deeper, with more force...then, shifting the leg higher still, he lifts his lips from the other’s kiss-spattered face, and watches him, watches his expression, as he draws his hand slowly back, then brings it down, smartly, sharply, upon that stretch of skin between the top of the leg and the backside that Ludwig so loves having beaten until it stings and bruises and burns bright, shining scarlet.
His lover groans, gritting his teeth on the damp tie between his lips, and Feliciano pulls out, almost all the way, brings his hand down again in a loud, satisfying smack (Ludwig’s whole body jolts and shudders with pleasure), and then thrusts back in, satisfaction burning up his body, spreading from his cock, upwards and outwards, to the palms of his hands, the tips of his fingers, and the soles of his feet which twitch on the sofa behind him. His eyelids fall closed in hazy delight, and the corners of his lips tug heavenwards. Beneath him, Ludwig pushes up, towards him, his eyes still unfocused, his whole body flushed and bitten and gleaming with sweat, and so, so incredibly delectable.
“More?” Feliciano whispers, and it sounds to strange to hear his own voice like this, half-choked and hungry, yet saying words, real words, rather than merely coughing out incoherent gasps. “Y-you want more, Ludi?”
The other nods, his eyes closing and his brow straining upwards, every muscle in his body tensing in anticipation.
Ludwig is so cute when he is like this, Feliciano thinks, slowing the rolling in and out motions of his hips right down. “Hey, Ludwig, I can’t hear you? Tell me again?”
The other man makes a quiet, desperate noise through the blue fabric pressing down on his tongue, and turns his head, fighting to keep his eyes open as he gazes pleadingly upwards at Feliciano. Feliciano thrusts forwards suddenly, firmly, and Ludwig’s head tilts right back as he arches his spine, a frantic little whine escaping through the makeshift gag.
Feliciano smiles, comfortingly, indulgently, and slows down his thrusts once more. It feels good for him too, of course, but he has already come in his lover’s beautiful mouth today, covered his lovely pointed tongue and his soft, willing lips with thick, white fluid, and anyhow, this is not so much about him as it is about Ludwig - about the bowing of his head, the purple marks upon his neck, the parting of his hungry, trembling thighs, and the soft noises he makes that let Feliciano know he’s having the time of his life. If he wants this to happen again, if he wants it to become a regular thing for them, he has to convince his practical-minded lover that it is well worth his while.
“Ahh,” he says, gently, and reaches a hand out to gently cup the other man’s cheek. Ludwig leans his whole weight and being into it. “Ahh, si, darling, I remember...this...” He slips his fingers down, pulls on the tie, tightening it even more.
His lover makes a sound somewhere between a growl and a groan, and bites down on the fabric harder.
“It’s okay, si? You want - you want me to make love to you, si? I know, amore mio...you want me to make love to you while I hit you...right here.” And he smacks that same reddened spot at the top of the other’s leg again.
Ludwig arches up, shuddering and moaning deliriously.
“It’s good?” Feliciano asks, and he pistons his hips once again. “Si?” And he smacks him once more, right before pushing forwards, shoving into him, and together they lose their breath, and it is hot, so hot...all-consuming heat and lust surrounds them, devours them, heart and body and soul. He does it again, draws out, smacks his lover, pushes roughly back in, to the hilt, until he is balls-deep, his other hand gripping Ludwig’s leg so firmly there will be cuts from his nails and bruises from his fingertips in the morning. Feliciano groans, and thrusts in again, fucking him and spanking him and fucking him again in quick succession, until his whole body is burning, burning from within, and Ludwig’s spine forms a perfect curve over the sofa.
His lover is going to come soon, Feliciano knows - that pale, viscous fluid is slowly dripping down his swollen length and pooling in the crevices of Ludwig’s abdominal muscles - and his thighs are shaking violently, and his fingers and toes are beginning to curl into the sofa cushions.
He thinks of the videos he had watched earlier for guidance. It is at about this point that the dark-eyed, leather-clad Masters and Mistresses had bent over, whispered to their subjects, “Are you going to come? Do you want to come? Should I let you?” and caressed cheeks and throats and the wet, red, needy places between legs teasingly. Oddly, perhaps, he wants to giggle - it is so funny, and so embarrassing to say things like this to Ludwig. Feliciano knows that he is relatively short, and his facial expressions lack the fierceness that seems to come so easily to his taller lover, and he cannot make his eyes burn, and he cannot drop his voice down low and make it rumble sexily, and, to top it off, he is ever-so-slightly on the pudgy side. And so he is fairly certain that he will look and sound absolutely nothing like those men and women from the videos when he asks - but he leans in anyway, and kisses Ludwig’s cheek briefly, whilst his right hand slaps the back of his thigh, hard - and murmurs, “Do you, umm, need to...do you need to come, Ludi?”
Ludwig whines frantically through his gag, his eyes slitting open just wide enough to gaze pleadingly up at him.
Feliciano is going to come too, if his partner keeps on making faces like that, and so he slows his thrusts right down again (Ludwig moans in agitation) and slowly draws out, massaging the glowing crimson marks where he had smacked his lover so dutifully.
“Don’t,” he says, warningly, as he fumbles around for the lubricant, abandoned somewhere behind him. “Don’t come, yet...be good for me, please, Ludi...”
The air around them is hot, and thick, and it smells of sweat and of sex. Ludwig’s hips buck up into his lover’s hand, and his jaw works slowly, as Feliciano’s shining, wet fingers move steadily up and down his length from base to tip, tracing fattened veins, catching a rolling drop of precome that has just beaded on the head and wept slowly down the side. Ludwig’s handsome face is contorted with heady pleasure, and his jaw is set firm, and the muscles down his arms and legs and across his stomach are still, and as hard as diamonds.
And when he moves to straddle his lover, thighs spread wide, and slides himself down onto his lover’s cock with a quiet, breathy “Oh,” his back flexing, his eyes closing, and his toes curling, Ludwig’s muscles harden even more. His hips shake and bump up, and when Feliciano spreads his palms across the plane of the other man’s chest, and leans in close, just like he did when he was inside, he can see the way his lover’s lips twitch and tremble with barely-contained desire. His bound hands and his arms are shaking.
Feliciano lifts himself up and down a few times, slowly, getting re-accustomed to and enjoying the stretch and the burn, and, oh, it feels magnificent. He is so full, so full of love, of Ludwig, and oh, God, he is so, so hot. His skin is prickling, all over his body - on the tip of his nose, on the soles of his feet - and a thick sweat drop is creeping carefully down the back of his neck, and lower.
Tenderly, he strokes his hands across Ludwig’s chest, occasionally stopping to pinch and squeeze and nip and pluck at his pointed red nipples, constantly lifting himself up and dropping back down, his head tossed to the side as he gasps and moans his joy to his lover beneath him.
“Mmm,” he says, “You feel...so good, Ludi,” and Ludwig makes a strange, whimpering sound through the tie in his mouth, “so, so good. You’re such a good boy, you know that, si? Yes, you are...” His voice trails off into a throaty moan, and he could swear he feels his lover grow even harder inside him.
Ludwig makes a muted, pitiful, begging sound, and Feliciano laughs quietly, tracing the outlines of bites and bruises and handprints with his fingertips, shifting his hips, pushing them forwards, his mouth slowly dropping open as the tension builds between his spread thighs.
“So good,” he murmurs again. “Ahh...that feels so nice, Ludi, amore mio...so good...ah! Is it good for you?” His mouth drops open, and stays like that as another spine-tingling rush of pleasure shoots like a bullet up the middle of his back.
His lover, breathing hard through his nose, body completely and utterly tensed with the effort of obeying, of not coming, nods silently in response.
“Ahh!” It is all becoming too much for him, too much. His eyes close and his cheeks pink as he reaches down to trail the ends of his fingers over his own hot, slowly dripping length. “Ah...oh...mmm...are you going - going to be good?” He asks, and oh, God, he is too warm - his head is spinning - “Are you going to help Master - are you going to help Master come?” The blush on his cheeks at these dirty words is masked entirely by the flush of arousal, and anyhow, Ludwig’s eyes are unfocused and hazy, fogged-up with pleasure, and Feliciano knows that everything his lover says or does now is a primal reaction, a base, carnal instinct. He is gone, reduced to a thing, a thing which he must use, and reward, and care for, completely, entirely, and love...
And at this thought, the fire inside him, in his head, in his heart, spreads, grows ten times wilder, ten times hotter, and he draws in a long, shuddering breath, and begins to rock against his lover’s body with more urgency, clenching and unclenching his muscles, sighing and moaning and humming with pleasure as it builds and builds, and just as he is beginning to sob with effort and frustration, thinking that this feeling will never peak, something inside strains, struggles...the tensions holds, stretching...and then it bursts apart, and he jolts forwards, his jaw dropping and his eyes closing as he half-collapses onto his lover. He comes hard - harder than he has in a long time - his hips still twitching forwards, out of his own conscious control, and his thighs quiver, and he knows he is moaning, little vibrato “ah - ah - ahs” that pound inside his own ears with the noise of his own heaving lungs and surging blood.
Ludwig, dear Ludwig, he realises, slowly, as the release finally ends, and he is left, overly-sensitive and whimpering “ahh...” is watching him diligently, eyes wide and pupils dilated, his gaze still lost, and yet, somehow, utterly trained upon him. Sticky spots of white dot his chest and stomach, and, briefly, Feliciano wonders what his lover would look like with it all over his face. A dull, almost painful thrum of arousal pulses weakly in his nether regions, and he makes one small, final noise of pleasure as he takes a moment to collect himself. Ludwig is as stiff as a board, still shaking slightly beneath him. His arms are still stretched out behind his head, poker-straight and quaking with desire.
Feliciano sucks in a breath, his damp chest heaving and his heart buzzing. Then, as carefully as possible, he lifts himself from his seat upon Ludwig’s pelvis, wincing just a bit as his lover’s still hard cock slides from his body. He falls back, legs tangled together like those of a newborn deer, and somehow manages to resist the temptation to drop onto his back and fall into a deep and thoroughly welcome sleep.
He reaches a hand out towards Ludwig - drops it onto the top of his nearest thigh - and stokes him slowly. Ludwig continues to shake.
“Good boy,” he whispers, “oh, good boy, amore mio, so good, you are so good...” and on, and on, and his head feels so funny, so fuzzy and confused, and his stomach is so pleasantly warm, and Ludwig is so, so beautiful, that he really doesn’t know if he’s speaking Italian or German or English or French or pig Latin, and really, it doesn’t matter.
Because Ludwig is still watching him, motionless and silent, and when Feliciano crooks a finger, and pats the cushion beside him, he struggles up, wrists still locked together, and, with great effort, manages to drag himself over to Feliciano’s side. His breath is hot and heavy against Feliciano’s neck, and loud in his ear, and his lips are wet and just a little bit bloodied.
Feliciano reaches for him, and with his thumb carefully wipes away the spots of red marring those lovely thin lips. Ludwig’s eyes close in pleasure.
“Good,” Feliciano whispers, and his lover shivers. “Good, amore mio, good...”
Ludwig trembles, pressing even closer to him as Feliciano’s hand slides down the backs of his legs, fondles him from behind.
“You love Master, si?”
He nods, his breath growing ragged as one of Feliciano’s fingers circles that slick, puckered entrance to his body.
“You’re so good,” Feliciano continues, and it fills his heart with warmth, saying these words, because they’re true - so simple, and yet so true. “You’ve made Master so, so happy. Should Master make you happy now, Ludi?”
He makes that lovely, strangled noise, and buries his face in the crook of Feliciano’s neck.
“Okay,” says Feliciano, softly, and presses another finger inside.
Rating: M
Summary: The sequel to "Playtime." Feliciano wants it to happen again; wants the burn of leather, the slice of the whip, the more, Master, please, to become a part of their everyday lives.
Warnings: D/S, BDSM, smut.
Disclaimer: I do not own Axis Powers Hetalia, nor do I claim to. The following is a work of fiction.
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Ludwig’s wrists are bound and red, the joints grinding against one another, and his arms are thrown rapturously back behind his head. His white teeth are clamped down hard upon the slash of blue across his mouth, and his eyelids flutter ceaselessly, irises rolling wildly backwards in their socket of strained white. The deep red bitemarks on his neck and collarbones and his strong shoulders seem, to Feliciano, to glow against his pale and sweaty skin - yet he is flushed too, with effort and life and arousal, all forand all because of Feliciano - and this thought quickens his already pounding heartbeat, stirs his loins, sends hot rushes of pleasure up and down his spine...
He leans down closer to his lover, bending carefully at the waist.
“Ludi,” he whispers, and Ludwig’s eyes, melting in and out of focus, open up, and find his. “Ludi, you need me to stop, pull your arms back up, si?”
A moment - and Ludwig nods - and he arches up a little, his arms remaining tossed way back behind his head.
Feliciano bends in even closer, attempting to maintain the motions of his hips, snapping forwards, pulling out, up and down, in and out. It is clumsy, and he knows it is. Ludwig is so much better at this than him, he thinks. It is difficult to get just the right leverage, to push hard enough into his lover to make that little crease of ecstasy appear between his fair eyebrows, to make his throat open up, to drag that choked half-moan half-needy whine from between his bitten lips.
And yet, somehow, he still manages...Ludwig’s chest is heaving, and though the tie, previously employed as a blindfold, gags him, rendering him speechless and wanting, he can still hear short, breathless, lustful gasps crowding the back of the other’s throat, bleeding through the material in a hoarse, hungry plea for more, for relief, for pleasure, and for pain. Feliciano leans in close, and he sees how the veins on the backs of his hands stand up with sheer effort as he grabs the backs of Ludwig’s thighs, lifting them higher and spreading them apart, pounding in earnestly, as hard and as deeply as his position allows.
His lover’s throat moves, and a tiny whimper, a thin sound dragged harshly from the back of his throat meets Feliciano’s ears.
“Ludi,” he murmurs, bending even further - again, the rhythm is disrupted, but this time Ludwig spreads his legs without needing to be prompted, opening his body up to Feliciano’s - and so he nuzzles his nose into that sore, marked neck, pressing kisses in that sensitive spot right behind his left ear, before working his way down the sharp jut of the other’s jaw.
Ludwig groans softly in response, his head falling to the side without protest as Feliciano works upwards again, over the high sweep of one cheekbone. The kisses are soft now, not rough and biting like earlier...and as Feliciano’s tenderness increases, Ludwig’s moans soften, and his eyes, clouded, vacant, swimming, fall shut. Feliciano reaches for his lover’s leg, his left one, and hauls it upwards, curling it behind his own back. Ludwig moans through the gag, and Feliciano begins to push into him with less haste, deeper, with more force...then, shifting the leg higher still, he lifts his lips from the other’s kiss-spattered face, and watches him, watches his expression, as he draws his hand slowly back, then brings it down, smartly, sharply, upon that stretch of skin between the top of the leg and the backside that Ludwig so loves having beaten until it stings and bruises and burns bright, shining scarlet.
His lover groans, gritting his teeth on the damp tie between his lips, and Feliciano pulls out, almost all the way, brings his hand down again in a loud, satisfying smack (Ludwig’s whole body jolts and shudders with pleasure), and then thrusts back in, satisfaction burning up his body, spreading from his cock, upwards and outwards, to the palms of his hands, the tips of his fingers, and the soles of his feet which twitch on the sofa behind him. His eyelids fall closed in hazy delight, and the corners of his lips tug heavenwards. Beneath him, Ludwig pushes up, towards him, his eyes still unfocused, his whole body flushed and bitten and gleaming with sweat, and so, so incredibly delectable.
“More?” Feliciano whispers, and it sounds to strange to hear his own voice like this, half-choked and hungry, yet saying words, real words, rather than merely coughing out incoherent gasps. “Y-you want more, Ludi?”
The other nods, his eyes closing and his brow straining upwards, every muscle in his body tensing in anticipation.
Ludwig is so cute when he is like this, Feliciano thinks, slowing the rolling in and out motions of his hips right down. “Hey, Ludwig, I can’t hear you? Tell me again?”
The other man makes a quiet, desperate noise through the blue fabric pressing down on his tongue, and turns his head, fighting to keep his eyes open as he gazes pleadingly upwards at Feliciano. Feliciano thrusts forwards suddenly, firmly, and Ludwig’s head tilts right back as he arches his spine, a frantic little whine escaping through the makeshift gag.
Feliciano smiles, comfortingly, indulgently, and slows down his thrusts once more. It feels good for him too, of course, but he has already come in his lover’s beautiful mouth today, covered his lovely pointed tongue and his soft, willing lips with thick, white fluid, and anyhow, this is not so much about him as it is about Ludwig - about the bowing of his head, the purple marks upon his neck, the parting of his hungry, trembling thighs, and the soft noises he makes that let Feliciano know he’s having the time of his life. If he wants this to happen again, if he wants it to become a regular thing for them, he has to convince his practical-minded lover that it is well worth his while.
“Ahh,” he says, gently, and reaches a hand out to gently cup the other man’s cheek. Ludwig leans his whole weight and being into it. “Ahh, si, darling, I remember...this...” He slips his fingers down, pulls on the tie, tightening it even more.
His lover makes a sound somewhere between a growl and a groan, and bites down on the fabric harder.
“It’s okay, si? You want - you want me to make love to you, si? I know, amore mio...you want me to make love to you while I hit you...right here.” And he smacks that same reddened spot at the top of the other’s leg again.
Ludwig arches up, shuddering and moaning deliriously.
“It’s good?” Feliciano asks, and he pistons his hips once again. “Si?” And he smacks him once more, right before pushing forwards, shoving into him, and together they lose their breath, and it is hot, so hot...all-consuming heat and lust surrounds them, devours them, heart and body and soul. He does it again, draws out, smacks his lover, pushes roughly back in, to the hilt, until he is balls-deep, his other hand gripping Ludwig’s leg so firmly there will be cuts from his nails and bruises from his fingertips in the morning. Feliciano groans, and thrusts in again, fucking him and spanking him and fucking him again in quick succession, until his whole body is burning, burning from within, and Ludwig’s spine forms a perfect curve over the sofa.
His lover is going to come soon, Feliciano knows - that pale, viscous fluid is slowly dripping down his swollen length and pooling in the crevices of Ludwig’s abdominal muscles - and his thighs are shaking violently, and his fingers and toes are beginning to curl into the sofa cushions.
He thinks of the videos he had watched earlier for guidance. It is at about this point that the dark-eyed, leather-clad Masters and Mistresses had bent over, whispered to their subjects, “Are you going to come? Do you want to come? Should I let you?” and caressed cheeks and throats and the wet, red, needy places between legs teasingly. Oddly, perhaps, he wants to giggle - it is so funny, and so embarrassing to say things like this to Ludwig. Feliciano knows that he is relatively short, and his facial expressions lack the fierceness that seems to come so easily to his taller lover, and he cannot make his eyes burn, and he cannot drop his voice down low and make it rumble sexily, and, to top it off, he is ever-so-slightly on the pudgy side. And so he is fairly certain that he will look and sound absolutely nothing like those men and women from the videos when he asks - but he leans in anyway, and kisses Ludwig’s cheek briefly, whilst his right hand slaps the back of his thigh, hard - and murmurs, “Do you, umm, need to...do you need to come, Ludi?”
Ludwig whines frantically through his gag, his eyes slitting open just wide enough to gaze pleadingly up at him.
Feliciano is going to come too, if his partner keeps on making faces like that, and so he slows his thrusts right down again (Ludwig moans in agitation) and slowly draws out, massaging the glowing crimson marks where he had smacked his lover so dutifully.
“Don’t,” he says, warningly, as he fumbles around for the lubricant, abandoned somewhere behind him. “Don’t come, yet...be good for me, please, Ludi...”
The air around them is hot, and thick, and it smells of sweat and of sex. Ludwig’s hips buck up into his lover’s hand, and his jaw works slowly, as Feliciano’s shining, wet fingers move steadily up and down his length from base to tip, tracing fattened veins, catching a rolling drop of precome that has just beaded on the head and wept slowly down the side. Ludwig’s handsome face is contorted with heady pleasure, and his jaw is set firm, and the muscles down his arms and legs and across his stomach are still, and as hard as diamonds.
And when he moves to straddle his lover, thighs spread wide, and slides himself down onto his lover’s cock with a quiet, breathy “Oh,” his back flexing, his eyes closing, and his toes curling, Ludwig’s muscles harden even more. His hips shake and bump up, and when Feliciano spreads his palms across the plane of the other man’s chest, and leans in close, just like he did when he was inside, he can see the way his lover’s lips twitch and tremble with barely-contained desire. His bound hands and his arms are shaking.
Feliciano lifts himself up and down a few times, slowly, getting re-accustomed to and enjoying the stretch and the burn, and, oh, it feels magnificent. He is so full, so full of love, of Ludwig, and oh, God, he is so, so hot. His skin is prickling, all over his body - on the tip of his nose, on the soles of his feet - and a thick sweat drop is creeping carefully down the back of his neck, and lower.
Tenderly, he strokes his hands across Ludwig’s chest, occasionally stopping to pinch and squeeze and nip and pluck at his pointed red nipples, constantly lifting himself up and dropping back down, his head tossed to the side as he gasps and moans his joy to his lover beneath him.
“Mmm,” he says, “You feel...so good, Ludi,” and Ludwig makes a strange, whimpering sound through the tie in his mouth, “so, so good. You’re such a good boy, you know that, si? Yes, you are...” His voice trails off into a throaty moan, and he could swear he feels his lover grow even harder inside him.
Ludwig makes a muted, pitiful, begging sound, and Feliciano laughs quietly, tracing the outlines of bites and bruises and handprints with his fingertips, shifting his hips, pushing them forwards, his mouth slowly dropping open as the tension builds between his spread thighs.
“So good,” he murmurs again. “Ahh...that feels so nice, Ludi, amore mio...so good...ah! Is it good for you?” His mouth drops open, and stays like that as another spine-tingling rush of pleasure shoots like a bullet up the middle of his back.
His lover, breathing hard through his nose, body completely and utterly tensed with the effort of obeying, of not coming, nods silently in response.
“Ahh!” It is all becoming too much for him, too much. His eyes close and his cheeks pink as he reaches down to trail the ends of his fingers over his own hot, slowly dripping length. “Ah...oh...mmm...are you going - going to be good?” He asks, and oh, God, he is too warm - his head is spinning - “Are you going to help Master - are you going to help Master come?” The blush on his cheeks at these dirty words is masked entirely by the flush of arousal, and anyhow, Ludwig’s eyes are unfocused and hazy, fogged-up with pleasure, and Feliciano knows that everything his lover says or does now is a primal reaction, a base, carnal instinct. He is gone, reduced to a thing, a thing which he must use, and reward, and care for, completely, entirely, and love...
And at this thought, the fire inside him, in his head, in his heart, spreads, grows ten times wilder, ten times hotter, and he draws in a long, shuddering breath, and begins to rock against his lover’s body with more urgency, clenching and unclenching his muscles, sighing and moaning and humming with pleasure as it builds and builds, and just as he is beginning to sob with effort and frustration, thinking that this feeling will never peak, something inside strains, struggles...the tensions holds, stretching...and then it bursts apart, and he jolts forwards, his jaw dropping and his eyes closing as he half-collapses onto his lover. He comes hard - harder than he has in a long time - his hips still twitching forwards, out of his own conscious control, and his thighs quiver, and he knows he is moaning, little vibrato “ah - ah - ahs” that pound inside his own ears with the noise of his own heaving lungs and surging blood.
Ludwig, dear Ludwig, he realises, slowly, as the release finally ends, and he is left, overly-sensitive and whimpering “ahh...” is watching him diligently, eyes wide and pupils dilated, his gaze still lost, and yet, somehow, utterly trained upon him. Sticky spots of white dot his chest and stomach, and, briefly, Feliciano wonders what his lover would look like with it all over his face. A dull, almost painful thrum of arousal pulses weakly in his nether regions, and he makes one small, final noise of pleasure as he takes a moment to collect himself. Ludwig is as stiff as a board, still shaking slightly beneath him. His arms are still stretched out behind his head, poker-straight and quaking with desire.
Feliciano sucks in a breath, his damp chest heaving and his heart buzzing. Then, as carefully as possible, he lifts himself from his seat upon Ludwig’s pelvis, wincing just a bit as his lover’s still hard cock slides from his body. He falls back, legs tangled together like those of a newborn deer, and somehow manages to resist the temptation to drop onto his back and fall into a deep and thoroughly welcome sleep.
He reaches a hand out towards Ludwig - drops it onto the top of his nearest thigh - and stokes him slowly. Ludwig continues to shake.
“Good boy,” he whispers, “oh, good boy, amore mio, so good, you are so good...” and on, and on, and his head feels so funny, so fuzzy and confused, and his stomach is so pleasantly warm, and Ludwig is so, so beautiful, that he really doesn’t know if he’s speaking Italian or German or English or French or pig Latin, and really, it doesn’t matter.
Because Ludwig is still watching him, motionless and silent, and when Feliciano crooks a finger, and pats the cushion beside him, he struggles up, wrists still locked together, and, with great effort, manages to drag himself over to Feliciano’s side. His breath is hot and heavy against Feliciano’s neck, and loud in his ear, and his lips are wet and just a little bit bloodied.
Feliciano reaches for him, and with his thumb carefully wipes away the spots of red marring those lovely thin lips. Ludwig’s eyes close in pleasure.
“Good,” Feliciano whispers, and his lover shivers. “Good, amore mio, good...”
Ludwig trembles, pressing even closer to him as Feliciano’s hand slides down the backs of his legs, fondles him from behind.
“You love Master, si?”
He nods, his breath growing ragged as one of Feliciano’s fingers circles that slick, puckered entrance to his body.
“You’re so good,” Feliciano continues, and it fills his heart with warmth, saying these words, because they’re true - so simple, and yet so true. “You’ve made Master so, so happy. Should Master make you happy now, Ludi?”
He makes that lovely, strangled noise, and buries his face in the crook of Feliciano’s neck.
“Okay,” says Feliciano, softly, and presses another finger inside.