'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

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[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.]