'cause you're my king and I'm your lionheart

[selfie_centered]

♦️🌹

and in the sea that's painted black
creatures lurk below the deck
but you're a queen and I'm a lionheart

CODE

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[crimsontyrant]

[ Almost like Cater could read his mind, he knew exactly what Riddle needed. Another kiss, chased down by Cater himself, a move that showed it was a mutual want, a mutual need, even with Riddle's previous demand.

His body shifts, a knee pressing closer to Cater, while he tilts his head just right, deepening their kiss.

Was he supposed to think, right now? Maybe not. What would this mean for them? He's not sure.

There's an impossible sweet, a yearning that he wonders if Cater can feel, can witness in their kiss.

Maybe, just maybe, Riddle's just as greedy as Cater. The hand grasping his shirt tries to tug him closer, tries to demand more than just that kiss. He can't vocalize what he wants, even if his lips weren't occupied, but it's simple: he wants Cater. His touch, his kiss, anything that he can get.

And, damn, does he need to cool it before they take this too far. ]

[selfie_centered]

[it has to be just that Cater wants to read want in Riddle's intent. it can't really be there, right? but Cater's feeling it, and he wants it, too. wants to be wanted. wants Riddle, specifically, to want him.

It's annoying to him that his other arm isn't much use like this, but he pulls it back under him a bit so that he can settle a bit more over Riddle, press his rose-red-haired underclassman back a little. answers Riddle's want with want of his own. he matches the movement of Riddle's knee, shifting forward until they're nearly flush. it's a small bed. they have to be closer.

he doesn't want to think. if he thinks, he'll have to admit there's nothing noble about his intent to give in to Riddle's desire. so he simply refuses, pressing another, and another kiss to Riddle's mouth, between breaths. just a little more of this should be okay. Cater knows, he's so, so sure, when to stop. there's no way he's in over his head.

first makeouts can be a sleepover activity, too, maybe.]

[crimsontyrant]

[ Was this what Cater wanted? Or was it something he was doing because Riddle wanted it? Because he asked for it, pleaded for it with that little murmur of his name?

It's hard to deny that Cater must want this too, when he's adjusting them. Pressing him back, matching his movements, pulling their bodies so flush together. The heat is impossible to mask, now, with just how close their bodies are.

Each kiss is returned in kind, an almost sweet desperation oozing from Riddle as he all but demands more, chasing Cater's lips every time they'd part for a breath, every time they'd shift.

Maybe, it would be fine... if he...
Riddle's hands both move, arms wrapping loosely over Cater's shoulders. One hand presses to the back of his head, fingers tangling in his hair. The other drops to between his shoulder blades, urging him closer, even if they really couldn't get much closer than they already are.

Should he part his lips? Turn slightly to fall into the bed further on his back, to give Cater more space to get settled atop him? Too many choices-- all of which he takes in stride, going with his impulses. That's how he needed to learn, on occasion, after all. ]

[selfie_centered]

[it's dangerous, really, how much Cater wants this. Riddle won't give him any sign to back off, and Cater is eager to latch on to every ounce of reciprocation and approval. he can't just back off once Riddle's wrapped him up. Cater revels in the command, sinking into it, his own lips parting. With the hand he'd had on Riddle's cheek before he drags a greedy, curious palm down Riddle's neck, his collarbone—

his own sweater, soft plush, around Riddle. reminding him that Riddle is just as wrapped up right now in Cater as Cater is in him. the shifting of his leg becomes a bit more insistent, angling for just the right place, wanting to feel Riddle against this growing ache of his. Riddle might not be experienced but eagerness and openness counts for a lot, and it's earned him a Cater that is just as desperate to please as he is to gain.

gentle, curious, he deepens that kiss further. if he had any mind to defend himself he'd surely say he's still certain Riddle will stop him when he wants to— but really, he's not thinking much at all, coasting instead on the feeling.]

[crimsontyrant]

[ It's damn near intoxicating. Cater's lips on his, the short breaths they take in to try and keep their lungs from burning. The hand dragging down his neck, his collarbone, is enough to elicit a soft noise from the younger boy, body near squirming in reaction, wanting more and more and more. He can't keep up, dizzy with his breathless state.

That doesn't stop him. His body responds in kind, legs shifting to spread slightly, enough to let their bodies press further. He isn't even thinking about the ache of arousal he'd want to hide, not when they're tangled so thoroughly together.

No, all he's thinking about is the feeling that's rushing through him, the freedom he feels being this close, this intense with someone else. He doesn't know what he wants, doesn't know when he should stop, but that kiss is easily deepened, another soft noise made against Cater's lips.

He needs to... stop. To pull back and be smart about this, avoid getting way too into it... but it's too late, isn't it? He's lost in the moment, fingers grasping against Cater's hair, against the back of his shirt, demanding and bossy. ]

[selfie_centered]

[For another moment Cater is lost in Riddle's squirming, in how beautiful it is. in how he wants to see Riddle squirm, hear him moan, watch him—

Cater takes in a sharp breath, brought to his senses by those very sounds. Riddle, becoming a mess beneath him, taking it when Cater rocks his hips between Riddle's legs. it really is as wonderful as a dream, but it's become all too apparent at once that all these sensations are actually indeed real.

He's awake, and he's going way too far.

Eyes opening wide he pulls away, taking his hand off Riddle's chest and bracing it on the bed so he can push himself enough to hover over the smaller boy. He stares down at Riddle and his sweet, red-framed face, panting, trying to get a hold of himself.

How?
How did he get here?]

Ah... I...

[shit. fuck. those aren't words. he begs himself say something. anything. but for a moment longer, all he can do is try to catch his breath and stare down at the person consuming his thoughts.]]

[crimsontyrant]

[ Lost, in the sensations. All he can feel is Cater. His hands, his hips, the way their bodies rock desperately together, as if they's waited centuries for this very moment. Riddle's body is receptive - maybe too much so. Being so repressed for so many years, having a hint of what he desired, drawing him out just enough that he can get lost...

It's dangerous. Addictive.

And all of a sudden, it ends. Cater's breaking their kiss, cutting them off, and even moving his hand back to press it dowm against the bed. Riddle's own hands release Cater, his arms falling back to the bed, coming back to his chest to help wrap him up all over again.

This moment is what begins to bring him back to reality too. His face burns, growing hotter by the second the longer he stares up at Cater.

This position. The way Cater looks dowm on him from above. The ache of his need, and... the feelings that come along with this. All of that stops Riddle in his tracks, as he opens his mouth to try and say something; anything. ]

... We should... really try to wind down to sleep.

[ As much as his voice quivers, shakes with the lost intensity of the moment, he's still clear in what he's saying: they need to cool it. Take it down a notch, before either of them regrets it. ]

[selfie_centered]

...Right,

[that's exactly what they should do. not to overstep, but to keep going. Cater nods, pushing his brain to keep moving, to not get stuck on the sight of Riddle beneath him.]

Right. Yeah. Sorry.

[he rolls back onto his side, to Riddle's side, and breathes in, out— jeez. What was he thinking, letting it carry on like that? would Riddle have stopped him if...]

Just— got a little carried away there.

[ya think, genius??]

[crimsontyrant]

[ There's a sense of mutual understanding, isn't there? That they need, desperately, to stop. If they push it any further, there won't be any coming back. Riddle's not even sure he would've had the self control to stop Cater. Not out of inability, but due to how good it felt. To have those hands on him, their lips pressed together just right, bodies flush and--

Riddle already misses the feeling. ]

It's-- It's alright. So did I.

[ So much for not thinking 'scandalous' things. How far would they have gone, had Cater not stopped them?

This was embarrassing, just how easily he'd gotten worked up, gotten to the point of damn near making a fool of himself, becoming an utter mess under Cater and almost thinking to ask him to keep going when he'd begun to pull back.

He's supposed to be collected, responsible, careful.

Turning back onto his side, he finds he can't exactly meet Cater's eyes, playing with the sleeves of his sweater.

The sudden lack of contact ached, but he needs to be careful. Keep himself from making any moves that might be against their better judgement. He decides it's... probably fine to take one of Cater's hands. Or, try to. He shuffles slightly closer, his hand inching close to Cater's, his pinky and ring finger resting carefully against Cater's, trying to hint at it, to ask for that bit of contact.

All while he moves to bury his face against Cater's chest, still trying to catch his breath, to focus on anything but all that. ]

[selfie_centered]

[Right... right. They're both on the same page, clearly. The same page of cooling down, of not jumping down into rabbit holes they can't climb out of.

But it's different now, isn't it? Something has changed. The way Riddle looks in the dim of windowlight has changed. What was just a lovely sight to see before has become something dangerously desirable.

What's undesirable is the idea of Riddle's disappointment— something much stronger than the fatigued mortification of his own lack of control that's drumming through his head. Maybe Cater would like to go find a closet alone somewhere to scream about this, but not right now.

it's still a secret after all. it's safe.

Cater wiggles his hand, turning his palm up under Riddle's hand until he can grasp those last two fingers of his.]

...good night, Housewarden.

[carefully chosen words and soft, green eyes. that's all Cater can be right now. he can overthink later.]