'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

Comments

[selfie_centered]

[what?

was Cater supposed to be thinking? was he supposed to be anxious, or something? for a second there isn't room for that— not that he'd hear his thoughts over his own heartbeat flooding his ears, or past the overwhelm of the heat rising through the all of him.

Riddle's supposed to be his innocent little sheltered underclassman— so where does he get off, sounding like that?!

Cater swallows, his throat dry all of a sudden, and nods, slow and dumb. anything he could say sounds so— stupid, or too horny, or— just, not right, but he has to say something.]

Okay.

[twisted wonderland to Cater: queenie-pie's giving an order, honey! if Riddle's asking for a good time, then Cater's got to give it to him! he slides his hands down from Riddle's neck, down to grab the lapel of his shirt, tugging gently.

in a murmur, as if to assure Riddle they won't get caught, Cater instructs;]

Kiss me again, and I will.

[crimsontyrant]

[ There's a power that Riddle holds over Cater. Yes, the obvious power that comes with being his Housewarden, but it's something else. Something that made him so perfect to fit the role of the King.

Not that Riddle would vocalize this. Not in this moment; maybe not ever.

The obvious can stay obvious, and they never need to talk about it.

Here, they come to an important fork in the road. Riddle has two choices: kiss Cater and accept his own decision, or pull back from him, back down and decide he isn't ready for any of this.



He does kiss him. It's quick, hurried, as if he's afraid they'll be caught just from a simple touch of their lips. Can Cater feel the desperation in his kiss? As if they hadn't spent minutes on that conversation, as if they'd just continued to make out and he'd gotten worked up from that - no, he's trying to push past that, to spark back that energy they'd had.

It still holds that same Rosehearts sweetness, for sure. The tenderness of a boy who just wanted to love and be loved, without needing to ask.

Well, Cater? Your move. ]

[selfie_centered]

[fine. good. that's permission, isn't it? permission to return that desperation, permission to grip that collar harder. with a soft hum Cater tilts his head, just as eager to find that place they left off, no matter how awkward the way there might be. one hand lets go of Riddle's shirt only to cup Riddle's cheek, as if Cater does worry Riddle might run away. or maybe he's just glad he's where he is, under Riddle, holding on to him like a lifeline, so that he can't be the one to chicken out.

he fidgets with his legs, trying to find the right position for now, to get Riddle straddled right where he needs him to be. if Riddle wants to be loved, maybe he'll feel it in the shudder of Cater's breath, in the way his hand almost seems to tremble, the way he kisses Riddle like someone almost just as starving as Riddle is. as if getting to take in Riddle for himself is this overwhelming relief.]

[crimsontyrant]

[ Desperation thick in the air, Riddle can't help but squirm atop Cater, eager and needier than he could've ever imagined himself being. He tilts his own head, deepens the kiss, all while finally moving his hands from Cater's shoulders. Pushing at that sweater of his, as his own lips part, begging for something even more. To get to the point, the line, that they hadn't dared to cross before.

Riddle moves his body as needed. Shifts his hips to straddle Cater just right, to press them up against each other.

Similarities can be seen, between the way Riddle is moving, kissing him, and pushing them forward, in the same way he might do if he was dehydrated, desperate for a single sip of water. As if this was something he needed not only for fun, but for survival.

Without a second thought, he squirms atop him, grinding down on him in a demanding, impatient way that only Riddle Rosehearts could muster. ]

[selfie_centered]

[it's not like Cater minds moving fast. it doesn't matter, not to him, not when he's always chasing a feeling. it's just so unexpected. he didn't know that Riddle could be as thirsty as he is. especially not for him.

asking why over and over would only get in the way. instead Cater focuses on now, losing himself in this moment, in this secret. Riddle grinds against him and Cater gasps against his lips, pushing a heel down into the mattress to help contain himself. he grips at Riddle's shoulder as if for stability, but quickly decides that instead, he must, must get his hands on Riddle's skin. his fingers travel down that collar to a button, a second— and that's enough for now, at least, to slip one hand beneath satin, for his palm to cup the curve of Riddle's shoulder. he's been wanting to touch Riddle since that night, and this, too, is relief.

his body is much more honest than he is, and Cater answers the movement of Riddle's hips with an upward pitch, encouraging. loose, cozy lounge pants like he's wearing do little to hide how responsive Cater is to Riddle's desire, to being wanted, to that want coming from someone he can't stop himself from wanting back.]

[crimsontyrant]

[ Cater's so pathetic, in a way that's so so very lovely. Riddle can't say he isn't just as pathetic and needy in this moment, but hey. Let him point it out in someone else instead of owning up to it himself.

Skin on skin, several buttons of his shirt undone, the cold air snaking in to make him shudder under it, alongside the little shiver that Cater's touch elicits. It's new, after all. To be touched, felt up, even for something as simple as cupping his shoulder.

Riddle continues to roll his hips down against Cater's, his own arousal clear as day as he works them both up. Cater can feel it, right? How much he wants him?

He needs to break that kiss, to breathe-- and he does so. For a second. Then? He's diving right back in, his own trembling hands trailing down along Cater's chest and stomach, tracing the shape of him through that tee. ]

[selfie_centered]

[it really is obvious, isn't it? undeniable, even. Cater and Riddle want the same thing from each other, right now.

so if Riddle is going to be so forward as to touch him like this, after Cater's hardly had time to catch his breath— then Cater will get a bit more selfish, too. As Riddle's hands trail down to his stomach, Cater's hands open those last few buttons of Riddle's, until his shirt hangs open over his small frame.

there. that's enough room to get his hands on Riddle's collar, on his chest. to learn just how he feels beneath his fingers, all the while trying not to whine at the needy heat building between them.]

[crimsontyrant]

[ Another gasp is let out against Cater's lips, as those roaming hands get more selfish, more pointed. He feels like every touch makes his skin burn a little more, his heart race a little faster.

Okay, as much as he wants to keep kissing him, he has to pull back. It's overwhelming, intoxicating. Upon breaking the kiss, he can be heard panting quietly, squirming still atop Cater, almost as if he's unsure how to go to the next step. His fingers do end up trailing under his shirt, pausing right as his fingertips brush against his skin. ]

Cater...

[ Riddle whines out his name, soft as could be.

Once he's more used to this heat, this neediness that overtakes him, he might fall into it easier. To demand what he wants, when he wants it.

For now? For now he's at Cater's mercy. ]

Take off your shirt.

[ ... For the most part. ]

[selfie_centered]

[for someone who struggles so much with his identity, Cater is being reminded he so does love having a name in this moment. it sounds so perfect in Riddle's breath. at first Cater just nods, catching his breath, catching up— and then, despite the necessary squirming, almost hurries to pull his shirt and sweater off at once. his arm gets stuck in the sweater hole and he shakes it off, the pile of shirt and sweater slapping unceremoniously onto the floor.

very cool very collected very sexy. fuck. whatever!

it's fine. once Cater's hands are free, he's back to trying to get Riddle's off as well, sitting up enough to kiss at Riddle's jaw while he flips the collar of that shirt back off Riddle's shoulders, down his arms.]

[crimsontyrant]

[ Cater's lucky that Riddle doesn't laugh at his struggle. Sure, he lets out a small huff of a breath, but that's clearly him focusing on breathing! Not teasing Cater or making fun of him or laughing at him! No, he's too focused on the heat rushing through him to actually care how sexy or unsexy something is.

Besides. The shirt is off.

It's hard to contain any other noises when Cater begins to give him more attention. The kisses make him gasp, whine, tilt his head into them. The touch? Oh, he's moving his body with Cater, helping him get that shirt off of him.

FOCUS, Rosehearts.

He presses his hands back down against him, this time full palm against his skin, fingers splayed, his touch gentle, yet sure, tracing the curve of his waist down to his hips. Admiring him, with his hands and his eyes. ]

That-- feels good.

[ How daring is Cater feeling? What is he going to do next? Riddle can only guess, grasping at straws. ]

[selfie_centered]

[Cater hums against Riddle's skin, pleased with the reassurance. but he knows the positivity-based reinforcement is necessary both ways, and he speaks against Riddle's skin as his hands settle on Riddle's waist, his thumbs rubbing above Riddle's hip bones.]

Does it~?

Good,

[it would be stupid, stupid to leave marks on his queen, so Cater ignores the impulse to do more than he should. but he does let his teeth graze Riddle's neck, quickly followed by another and another kiss. he lets Riddle examine him, leaning a little into the touch. if it's just his body, then Cater isn't so terrified for Riddle to learn more and more and more about him.

he flips one of his hands, still at Riddle's waist, so that his forefinger can tuck under the waistband, circling around to the front and then back to the side teasingly, temptingly. surely Riddle will stop him if he doesn't want to let Cater's hands wander more— and if he doesn't, then Cater won't hesitate to take the opportunity.]

[crimsontyrant]

[ It's hard to focus, to think. That's what he asked for, but it's still such a new feeling that Riddle finds his breath catching in his throat, his eyes half-lidded as he looks down at Cater through his lashes.

And, they flutter closed as Cater's teeth graze his neck, followed by those sickeningly sweet kisses. His head tilts as if to give him more room, losing focus on where his own hands were going altogether.

His eyes peek back open as he feels the tease of Cater's finger, head tilting enough so he can look back down at him.

Would it even be possible to get his pants off in this position? Riddle squirms atop him, his face burning as he tries to articulate the few little thoughts he has. ]

Don't tease me. You know how little patience I have.

[ Is that a warning?... Yeah, a little bit, but he's just! Really worked up and impatient! Don't call him on it. ]

Should I move? To get them off..???

[ aaaand there goes any threatening presence he had in that last comment. ]

[selfie_centered]

[cute... cute! even if Riddle feels a bit embarrassed, he's completely disarmed Cater in the moment. his shoulders shake with a soft chuckle, and that finger draaaags back around to the front of Riddle's waist. Cater bats his lashes and leans just enough away that he can look into Riddle's face.]

You can if you want.

But! There's no rush, y'know.

[there's, anyway, that he can slip his hand into Riddle's trousers, probing, curious, and perhaps a little bit selfish.]

[crimsontyrant]

[ No rush... right. Right, they didn't have to rush through this and get right to the main event. Seven, if they didn't want to go all that way, that was fine too.

With Cater's hand slipping past the waistband, anyways, there's really no reason that Riddle wouldn't get distracted. And, damn, is it probably easy to find the source of Riddle's arousal, to feel just how worked up he'd gotten through their little messing around. There is another layer preventing Cater from touching him directly-

But Riddle's going to gasp, when his hand brushes against him, rolling his hips forward against Cater's hand. His fingers curl, nails digging in against Cater's skin. ]

This is... embarrassing. You can see everything from there and... feel it all, can't you?

[selfie_centered]

[Cater licks his lips, palming Riddle through his underwear. seven, he is pathetic, but there's no point in dwelling on that now. no way he can look any less thirsty.]

Thaaat's right~

[it's something like a song, something like a whisper. mischief, as Cater gives Riddle the lightest little squeeze, learning his shape by touch. pressing his temple to Riddle's cheek and feigning like he's hiding, Cater whines showily, leaning into Riddle's shoulder as if he's complaining.]

Every part of you is so cute, isn't it? That's not fair at all!

[even as he rocks Riddle backward a little, Cater wraps his other arm around Riddle's waist in this supportive hug, not letting them actually tip too far. just keeping it playful, casual, cool, even as his fingers coax at Riddle's dick.


it's fine. this is a way better way to keep himself from getting too in his head about it.]

[crimsontyrant]

[ It's perfectly fine that Cater's pathetic - because, in this moment, so is Riddle. He whines, his back arching as he curls in slightly towards Cater. His hands come back up to the other boy's shoulders, clutching onto him as he leans closer. Does it even matter that Riddle's straddling him if he's not taking advantage of the position to tease Cater?? He's practically lost to Cater's whims, for the moment.

Riddle's dick is, clearly, just about right for his body type. A slight bit under what may be considered 'average', and definitely the definition of cute. He follows Cater's lead, rocking letting himself fall back slightly.

Rather than whining and whimpering as he's been doing, Riddle lets out one of the first real moans he has offered, half hidden behind a little gasp. He can barely handle the touch, the attention, when it feels like he's been starved of it. ]

Don't-- call it cute.

[ Riddle complains, turning his head to let himself press a gentle kiss to Cater's temple. Small, affectionate, simple. Cute, probably. ]

Do you really want someone calling yours cute? Isn't that weird?

[ Yeah, he's complaining, but like! He's absolutely putty in Cater's hands, and the banter shows he's still Riddle, that he isn't uncomfortable and trying to save face. ]

[selfie_centered]

['just right' really is right. 'perfect for Riddle' is more correct. but then again, it's Riddle. anything would have been perfect, because it would be Riddle.]

Aw, c'mon. It's a compliment!

[the attention he's giving Riddle is somewhere on the spectrum between teasing and deliberate. there's no rush, he'd told Riddle, and he'd meant it. there's no reason not to take his time, to test out the limits— Riddle's and his own, really. he's switched to a slow, even stroke of the side of his knuckle up and down the curve of Riddle's dick.

aw, man. he doesn't usually get to play tutor to Riddle, huh?]

Lesson number one; 'cute' and 'hot' are not mutually exclusive.

For instance;

You are super-cute! And this—

[slow enough that Riddle could stop him if he wanted to, Cater dances his fingers over the waistband of Riddle's underwear and slips his hand through, craving that skin-to-skin contact. breathily against Riddle's ear;]

— is pretty hot.

[crimsontyrant]

[ Sure, Riddle said not to tease him, but this was different than the teasing from before. This was full of new experiences, and he was trying to savor each and every one of them. His breathing was ragged, shaky, as if he couldn't figure out how to steady it. Because he couldn't. He's so unfocused, unable to think more than a moment past this.

What is Cater even saying? A lesson? Riddle huffs, half amused half exasperated by his foolishness.

His body shudders under the sudden skin-to-skin contact, what he's been aching for, desiring more than anything.

And, really. It's increasingly attractive to hear Cater tell him he's cute, that he's hot. That breathy whisper doesn't help anything. or, more it does help, the way Riddle gasps out, the way he squirms to buck his hips up, craving more attention.

He likes that - keep telling him that. ]

I... Cater...--

[ Riddle lets out a soft whimpering moan of the other's name, unable to keep from squirming, from moving his hips and trying to get more and more and more. He's definitely not thinking anymore, leaning down to press his forehead against Cater's shoulder, his hands moving to let him rest them against the bed on either side of him. ]

Give me more, [ He demands, but it quickly turns into a little plea-- ] ... please.

[selfie_centered]

[it's fine— with Riddle's forehead pressed against Cater's shoulder, Cater can tilt his own head back and take a breath, collect himself. it's nearly overwhelming, this reality— is it real? It feels like it is— far beyond anything he could have fantasized. his imagination couldn't fill his hand with the sensation of Riddle bucking into his grip, couldn't distort what he knew of Riddle's voice before into the way his moans actually sound.

he tips his head down into Riddle's hair (isn't it unfair to smell so nice during something like this?!) and after laying a little kiss there, directs his eyes downward. his arm pulls down the fabric of Riddle's bottoms down enough that he can see the peek of Riddle's head in his own cupped hand and— oh, he's cooked, isn't he? this is something he's never going to come back from knowing.

oh well. already here, isn't he? his arousal has already long won.

gentle, coy, honey-sweet, he repeats again, slower and more drawn out;]

Yes, your majesty~

[it's so precious to hear Riddle command him. because it's not really a command anymore, is it? it's getting closer to begging, getting needier. if he could live in the feeling of being wanted by Riddle forever, maybe he would.

but as promised his touch becomes more insistent, his thumb and forefinger forming a ring around Riddle's head, coaxing just a little less gently than before. not to overwhelm Riddle.

not yet, anyway.]

[crimsontyrant]

[ It is overwhelming. For Riddle, this is completely beyond anything he would have ever thought about. Beyond the feelings he would expect to have, beyond any imagined fantasy between him ans Cater. He can't wrap his head around it -- which, actually, is a good thing. He could worry about all of the little questions later, grapple with the realization of how far they've gone into the deep end.

For now, he can't keep in his noises, but he can at least keep them quieter. Partially stifled by the position of his head, they're as needy as he was. His body was, frankly, too honest as he squirms and rolls his hips.

He can feel the cold air against his dick, against the head, but that hardly matters. Cater was going to see no matter what. There's no being 'embarrassed' about it anymore.

Except, Riddle's face burns, as Cater follows his order exactly. He gasps, fingers curling against the bedsheets under them, body shuddering with the change in pace. There's already pre beginning to form at the very tip, wetting Cater's fingers if he dares bring them up just a little bit higher.

Among the sensations completely distracting him, Riddle does manage to release the sheets, to instead bring his own hands between them, pressing them along Cater's hips. One of his hands grabs at his waistband, tugging on it a little, enough so Riddle can slowly drag the opposite down said hip. The tips of his fingers drag up against his groin as he brings his hand up higher.

It's his turn to tease, some. Unless Cater makes some indication that he wants him to stop. But. He wants to hear Cater fall into pathetic whimpering, moaning. To be just as needy as him - if he isn't already. ]

[selfie_centered]

[Riddle is treated to everything he wants, it must seem, because Cater is so responsive to him. he can't help it, though. it's really hard to weigh which is better between getting to touch Riddle and being touched by him. luckily, it's not as though he has to choose.

Riddle will find Cater stiff and aching, fully aroused, will hear Cater laugh in a way that almost sounds nervous— breathy, too. he might be bigger than Riddle, but only by the virtue of also, otherwise, being bigger than Riddle. Cater's more impressive in form than size, for sure, but that's probably not much of a problem here. he wiggles insistently, trying to get more from Riddle without even thinking of it. there's no sense of propriety anymore, no need to hold back. Riddle can already see Cater is breaking for him, can't he? what's it matter if he seems just a little more desperate? the cue to stop Riddle is waiting for doesn't come.

instead he bites his own lip, unrelenting in his touch. he does dare raise his fingers, quite deliberately wets them in that little bit of Riddle's slick, making it all the easier to keep rubbing at him. maybe he's terrible. maybe he is gross. but he likes the feeling, and especially loves knowing it's his fault.]

[crimsontyrant]

[ As with most things, Riddle is learning quickly. The way to arch his back just right so he gets all he wants from Cater, the way that the other boy feels in his hand, through his underwear. Riddle is tracing the shape of him for only a moment before he decides he's too impatient, dipping his first two fingers past the band of his underwear.

It's skin-to-skin almost immediate with Riddle, his small hand wrapping completely around his aching arousal.

This, actually, helps ground the small Housewarden. Brings him back to thinking, just a little, even despite the overwhelming feeling of Cater stroking him. ]

If... we went all the way, [ Riddle starts this line of questioning casually, lifting his head from Cater's shoulder finally, his cheeks flush and a bit of his confidence slipping right back into place. See, once he's started to learn, started to get the hang of something? He's golden. ] Would you fit?

[ The question is not phrased as in "because you seem big", but more... just based on their size difference, and a curiosity that burns within Riddle. He wants to learn more, to feel more, to hear more of Cater.

And then the other boy touches him in just the right way, and Riddle's whimpering all over again, gasping to try and keep his breathing steady, to get enough oxygen in. ]

[selfie_centered]

[it's good that he falters— maybe, then, he'll miss the way Cater's eyes widen, the huff that comes out of his throat. oh, what a question. it's really weird, actually, being incredulous, amused, and even more turned on.

yeah! good question! the people are dying to know!]

H-Hoookay, that's a question, yeah,

[his words sound a little stilted— he still has to try hard not to just sing for Riddle, really. it's hard to stay focused on the reality of the matter instead of to succumb to the hormone beast in his head, but this is Riddle he's dealing with, and realistically—]

That's kinda— mm, the kind of thing you work up to, I guess?

[Riddle is, after all, small. almost head-swimmingly so. and Cater does assume that there probably wasn't much sexual exploration going on in Casa Rosehearts, actually.]

Is that— what you want?

[or is it just what he thinks he has to do? Cater doesn't take his hand away from Riddle, but he does ease up just a little, just enough to give Riddle a chance to think.

he can make this worth it for Riddle in many ways, he's sure. it doesn't have to be 'all the way'.]

[crimsontyrant]

[ Not that Riddle realizes it, but it's probably even harder for Cater to think when his small hand continues to move, to stroke him, learning both the shape of him and what things make Cater absolutely fall apart for him. His eyes are unfocused for the most part, though there's a hint of watchfulness, of curiosity.

And he's copying that move from before, Cater. Pressing his first finger and thumb into a little 'o', to contract and expand as he moves his hand against him, to tease the very tip of him.

He's not easing up, even as Cater does to give him a second to think. And think he does, looking thoughtful despite the topic. ]

I am a bit ... more used to stimulation like that.

[ Riddle murmurs, stalling his hand to bring his thumb up to the head of Cater's dick, circling it with firm little motions. Experimenting, with his touch. ]

I get urges too you know-- [ And he begins to get defensive, before catching himself, and letting out a small little huff, ] However. This feels... really good. You're good with your hand.

[ Don't. Don't let Riddle think too long on that, or he might realize there's a REASON Cater's so good at this. ]

[selfie_centered]

[really and truly, Cater is fighting for his life. Riddle tightens his fingers just right around his tip and Cater makes a face almost like a wince, struggling to keep his eyes on Riddle. yeah, thinking is hard, actually!

he's doing such a good job of not melting into a puddle of moans before Riddle drops a one-two punch on him. the lore drop is one thing, followed by praise— Cater finally pulls the hand that was resting on Riddle's waist back behind him to keep himself from leaning back too far, suddenly feeling like he needs the support.

but still he continues touching Riddle too, his hands just as greedy as the rest of him; he rubs his thumb over Riddle's tip over and over, an aimless attempt at revenge as Cater does his best to keep his composure.]

Wh— I mean— yeah, I know that.

I just, y'know...

[what. what does he know. fuck. he's lost the thought already. his eyes close, a brow creasing— right, something about fitting.]

I— we can find out?

[pitiful. like of course he wants to find out.]