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BALTHUS VON ALBRECHT ✦ FIRE EMBLEM: THREE HOUSES
RESIDENCE ✦ Residency
GEMBOND ✦ Ruby

"Hah! What's on your mind, pal?"

INFO ✧ PERMISSIONS ✧ KINKLIST ✧ EXTRA

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( Sacha is poised to laugh of Balthus's little comment the same way he always would — but then something catches in the back of his mind, an opportunity gone awry, and he tilts his head in a moment of thought. )

... Maybe I do want that.

( He raises an eyebrow as he guides Balthus over to the stairs, which end up being a kind of re-enforced stepladder with wide, flat rungs. When they reach the foot of it her turns and gives Balthus's hands a little squeeze — warming, loving, a little non-verbal reassurance that this is him.

Just Sacha. Not a cold stranger who'd back him into a corner and leave him alone. )

In fact, I think that's a good idea. It's only polite to be on good behaviour when you're visiting someone else's place for the first time ...

( Sacha can't quite put his finger on it, but it feels even more important than it usually would that Balthus is okay with this. His expression softens around the edges as he gives him a private smile, one thumb stroking over the line of his partner's knuckles. )

... Right?

Ah.

[He lets out a breath in a way that's almost a sigh, letting himself be led without resistance. There's something about the slow and easy pace that Sacha takes that's unusually appealing in this precise moment — that they're both unhurried, almost lazy, like they've got all the time in the world and nothing to spend it on but each other.

It's a nice thought, isn't it? Taking all the time he wants, just to soak in the feeling of Sacha's thumbs rubbing against his hands. Savoring it. Having the space to learn about each other as they are, right here and now, without prior expectations or assumptions.]

You know it makes me happy to give you what you want. I mean — I like it, when I can.

[And they're just close enough that he takes a moment to draw Sacha against him, to briefly wrap his arms around him, to press a kiss against his hair for no other reason than that he's got affection to spare and offers it freely.]

Take me upstairs, then. Show me whatever you want. I want you to.

( Sacha lets himself be drawn into that affectionate embrace — lets himself just enjoy how good it feels to be in the circle of Balthus's arms. The kiss to his hair tugs a smile onto his lips, has him tilting his head up to brush them against the curve of his throat, before he gently eases himself from his arms to look him in the eye. )

I know. You're always so good for me, B.

( Even when I don't deserve it, he doesn't say. Instead, that smile warms as Sacha lifts a hand to cup the curve of Balthus's face. )

I'm gonna show you how much I appreciate it.

( Upstairs, there's even less space than their was in the main living room, although it doesn't take a keen eye to realise that this isn't necessarily just because it's a smaller area. Sacha's old room is cluttered with their things: discarded shoes, Balthus's towel, bits and pieces that speak of a life together — all of it coming together so naturally that he doesn't occur to him that it should be odd.

More than anything, it feels right.

The bed sits in one forner, larger than it had been when Sacha was a child and infinitely more sturdy. The ribbons around the frame ripple like water as he guides Balthus towards it, before easing himself onto the mattress and propping himself up on an elbow. This time when he looks at his partner there's an unmistakable hunger behind those glittering eyes: )

You like giving me what I want, right? Well, I want you to undress for me.

[There's something powerful and heady about the sweet simplicity of just being taken to bed, he discovers as Sacha leads him upstairs. Not mutually fumbling their way to it, not trying to reach a convenient place to tumble onto while their kissing turns frenetic and they tug at each other's clothes. Like this, there's time to appreciate the intent of it all — that it isn't just coincidence or convenience or even passion. There's no mistaking it for anything else; it's not about wanting sex, but about wanting him.

He ducks his head as they make their way to the little upstairs room, weaving around things he recognizes as his own (yet he's never been here before, except that he has because the person whose this is wants it to be his too), until finally they reach the mattress and settle in slowly, always angled toward each other like the magnetism between them won't let them look away.]

You will, huh...

[In a different place and time, he would've made a joke about himself here, lightly self-deprecating. Turned it into a compliment of Sacha's own beauty, compared himself unfavorably to his partner's far more enticing talents at getting himself undressed. But he's not self-conscious here, and so it doesn't occur to him to make light of himself. How could he, trapped beneath a gaze like the one Sacha has turned on him?

Like a man possessed, he slides one hand slowly up his chest, all but feeling himself up as his fingers make their way to the fastenings of his collar and start to thread them undone.]

Hope you're patient. A getup like this takes forever to get in and out of.

[The collar comes loose, and a sliver of tanned skin appears at his throat; a few agonizing seconds later, the next fastening follows, and he hooks his fingers into the opening made by the loosened halves of his coat, widening it to let Sacha catch a glimpse of just a little more.]

( Sacha watches that large hand stroke up Balthus's body — sees the way his fingers brushing the fine material of his clothing and corve over muscle as it meanders up towards the line of his collar. It strikes him that he very rarely sees Balthus lean into his devastatingly good looks: sure, he foregoes a shirt, and he likes to talk abut his abs whenever he can, but when it comes to presenting himself as truly desirable ...

It wrinkles something in the back of Sacha's mind — something to consider later, perhaps, when his body isn't simmering with arousal. He lets his gaze linger on the sliver of skin at Balthus's clavicle before lifting his eyes to his face again: )

Luckily for me, you're damned irresistible both ways.

( A smirk settles on his lips as he takes a moment to tilt Balthus's face towards him, then catches his lips in a sultry little kiss with just the barest slip of tongue.

A promise, really, of what's to come. )

But just so you know: the sooner you get out of them, the sooner I can show you why I brought you up here.

Now that's not very fair, tryin' to tempt me to rush.

[Nor is it very fair that he's succeeding. It would be altogether easy to just rush through his undressing — or better yet, forego it altogether and just vanish them with a thought in the strange way that only dreams could allow for — but at length he realizes that for once, he really wants to do this. It's not even for the sake of teasing Sacha, so much; it's just that he likes the feeling it gives him when Sacha looks at him like he couldn't take his eyes off him if he tried.

He licks at Sacha's lower lip before he has the chance to pull away entirely, returning tease with tease, and pulls another fastening free. There's enough room now for him to slide his hand beneath the folds of his coat; the fabric swells and shifts as it skims along his chest, as he thumbs at his nipple and hisses faintly at the sensation.

But soon his hands return to their work, one after another until finally his coat hangs loose and a long stripe of tanned skin and muscle is on display between the separated halves, and he sits up a little straighter and rolls his shoulders backward, and lets the whole thing slip off his body and down onto the floor in a cascade of buttons and trim.

Now bared to the waist, there's nothing to disguise the swell of his trapped arousal still bound up in the confines of his trousers; he skims his fingers over it a few times, breath catching, before twirling one of the drawstrings around a thick finger.]

More?

C'mon, as if I'm the one being tempting.

( Sacha's resposnse is a ragged, breathy thing, because how could Balthus not know what he does to him just by existing in his near proximity? He wears his clothes well: cuts tailored to his figure and just revealing enough that Sacha can see ripples of pecs and abs whenever he wants — he's a Saints-damned human confection of which he's certain he'll never get enough. Wrapped up as he is it's an excruciating tease to see the mateiral come undone and slip away— )

Mmh. Balthus ...

( To reveal him in all his luscious, muscular glory, his nipples pebbled and begging to be sucked as he strokes the thick bulge in his trousers.

It's not usual for Sacha to be left floored — or even dazed — by the intensity of his want. He's slept with all sorts of people over the years, all ov varying degrees of power, strength, physical beauty, but no-one does to him what Balthus can with a mere twirl of his finger around a drawstring. His own cock throbs hard inside his trousers as his gaze strokes over evvery bare inch of him, before coming to rest on the hand sitting so close to his cock. )

Yeah. More.

( There's a flush of pink heat in his cheeks as he eases himself a little closer, one hand sliding up over the tight angle of his waist to cup one of his pecs against the warmth of his palm. Sacha squeezes gently, his thumb worrying the hardened little nub, as he nuzzles in close to skim his teeth over the smooth curve of his jaw. )

Seiros, but I could eat you up right here. The things you do to me, B ...

Sure you are...you just do it without trying...

[He runs his tongue over his lip, trying not to lose focus beneath the heat and weight of Sacha's gaze, but the truth is it's a losing proposition all around. He's had his time to tease, and his determination to cling to that game breaks right in alignment with Sacha's hands finding their way to his body. He's always craved touch like this; anything resembling gentleness was always in short supply in his youth, and so he thrives on it whenever he can get it in his age of maturity. And Sacha seems to know just how to touch him, just how to make it good, even when the contact is as slight as a brush of fingers or the drag of teeth.

He barely remembers that he's supposed to be finishing up and undressing; when he does, it's more rapid, working the drawstrings of his trousers undone and loosening them until they'll be easy enough to kick away with some effort and a bit of creative shimmying. It's practically a relief to get it done, when that means he can turn his attention more fully to the little pulses of pleasure that ripple through him with every movement of Sacha's thumb, and the catch of his breath as his heart beats faster with it.]

Hhh...okay, that's. S'about as close as I can get without you having to let go of me, so. What now? What next...?

Well ...

( It's a slow drawl followed by a mischievous little smile — the one that never fails to light up his eyes — which softens into a gentler expression just half a heartbeat later. Sacha leans in to press a soft kiss to the waiting curve of Balthus's lips: )

You trust me, yeah?

( He begins to shift them, guiding Balthus a little further up the bed until he's able to lie back against his (their) pillows. Propping himself up on an elbow, Sacha hovers over him for a moment before fluttering a few more kisses over his cheeks, his jaw, his throat, as the palm of his hand skims down low over Balthus's abdomen to give his cock a lazy squeeze. )

I wanna show you how good it can be. Like that time at the lake, only ... better, probably. Just my fingers and my mouth.

( The tip of his nose brushes Balthus's ear as he murmurs hot against it: )

Let me take you apart, hm? Just me.

( He squeezes him again, the pad of his thumb coming up to stroke over the tender slit of his dick. )

Just us.

Hah...which time at the lake? Seems like every time we wind up at that lake, things get out of hand.

[But oh, he's not ready for this, and it shows in the way he all but melts beneath Sacha's soft attentions; his breathing stays slow and deep, but there's definitely the beginnings of a sigh in every exhale and a gasp in the opposite direction. Courtesy of dream logic, the bed is softer and more luxurious than its humble appearance would suggest, and his eyes go a little glassy as he sinks down into the pillows, faint noises escaping the back of his throat in all the moments when Sacha's kisses feel too good for his breaths to just stay breaths.

Stormy-eyed and hazy, he lets his head list to the side to better watch Sacha work, rolling without lifting it out of the caress of the pillows. His mouth is wet. His lips stay parted because he won't be able to get enough air in him otherwise. And finally, finally, a warm hand finds its way to where he's aroused and aching, petting him, touching him like it's his right to do it — and it is.]

That...that sounds really good, yeah. Yeah...yeah, please. Do that...

[Oh, it sounds so good. And for once, he doesn't think shouldn't I be doing something, shouldn't I be giving something back, what about making him feel good, because for once it just occurs to him with drowsy, heady recognition that maybe doing this does make Sacha feel good. Maybe he's doing enough, just by taking it. Maybe this is for him, and he doesn't have to worry about pleasing Sacha so much.

...Because he trusts him.

Because this is what it should've been earlier, outside, with the floor and the bonds and the power. It should've been this, not a transaction of satisfaction but a gift of it.]

Hey...tell me what you're doing, okay? 'Cause...I like it. I like it when you talk to me like this.

Yeah? You like hearing what I'm gonna do to you, huh?

( Sacha chuckles, just a velvet purr, before pressing a kiss to the lobe of Balthus's ear. )

Good boy. Thank you for letting me know, Sweetness.

( This kind of communication? It's important. Goddess-knows, but they found out the hard way.

His reward is a firm, slow pull from the base of his cock right up to the glossy tip, and Sacha takes a moment to spread a little of the wetness there over the head before running his hand back down to his balls. It's a little heady to think that this man — every hard, beautiful inch of him — is in some way utterly his; his to love, his to trust, and his to give as much pleasure as he possibly can. Sacha kisses him leisurely, slowly, before beginning to ease his way down his body, which he peppers with little kisses, nips, and kitten-licks when he simply has to taste. )

Since you've told me what you want, I'm gonna tell you what I want.

( Sacha settles over his abdomen, slotted comfortably between his thighs with his waist cradled in his hips. Like this he can feel the thick, insistent press of Balthus's erection against his stomach, and he squirms minutely in an all-too obvious attempt to keep him fraying around the edges. )

I want you to enjoy this. I want you to lie back, let me fuck you open until you soak yourself in your own come ...

( Warm eyes sparkle with affection as he looks up at him, eases a little further down, until his breath flares damp and warm against the curve of his cock. Kiss-bruised lips part just enough that he can slide his tongue over the head in a lazy swirl, before closing his lips around it and sucking just enough that he pops off it again with a wet, lewd sound. )

Then I wanna do it again, and again, and again, until you understand how good you make me feel. You deserve it, B.

[Good boy. That's what he'd wanted to hear, wasn't it? That's what he'd been craving, the attention and approval and praise wrapped up in two easy words. It doesn't just make him feel better, either; it makes him feel encouraged, enough so that once he's done reeling from the feeling of that long languid stroke of his cock, he lets his eyes flutter back open and offers more again, not worrying much about putting his desires into the right words, but instead just letting them spill out without much of a thought.]

I want to touch you, though...please don't say I can't...

[He could, because sometimes this game is played that way. He remembers it was once, when he had to put his hands up at either side of his head and keep them to himself. And there is part of him that wants that, except that it's not the deprivation that he wants, it's the part where Sacha tells him what to do, how to behave. Gives him a way to be good.

He decides to say that, too.]

I won't try to distract you or anything. Just don't make me keep my hands to myself.

[Because he almost can't help himself, when there's a mouth nibbling and licking at his bare skin, when he's stroked so softly that it makes him gasp and lose himself for a minute. His fingers twitch; his hands jerk of their own volition, and when he does reach for Sacha it's only to steady him, or steady himself against him — a palm wrapped against his hip, fingertips brushing light through his hair. He doesn't want to misbehave. He just wants to connect in as many ways as possible, to anchor himself like this, too.

And he's going to need it, once the implications of Sacha's whispered promises really start to sink in, right in time with the wet heat of a warm mouth wrapping around him and dragging a whimper from his throat.]

M-Much more of that and —

[He sucks a hard breath, face flushed, hips jerking up on reflex like they're chasing after Sacha's mouth as he draws away.]

...shit, I can't be this close already...

( Sacha's lashes slide closed for a sweet little moment as Balthus's hands find his hip, then his hair, before opening again on a soft chuckle at that near-desperate little plea. )

You can touch me as much as you want. That's allowed — this time.

( A playful smirk touches the corner of his lips as he raises an eyebrow at his own insinuaton: this time, Balthus, but next time he might not be so lucky. Sacha likes changing up the rules of the games when they play like this just to keep things feeling fun and a little naughty; likes making Balthus have to guess at what he is or isn't permitted to do.

Speaking of ... )

And you can come whenever you want, too. Just don't think that an orgasm is gonna stop me from fucking you as much as I want, 'kay?

( And apparently, Sacha isn't much in the mood to tease any more — not with Balthus jerking and twitching and as ready to spill as he is. He nudges his shoulders against the backs of his lover's thighs until his knees are bent up and framing his face, then slides his hands over his hips until he can cup a handful of his ass in each palm. In this Sacha does start slow: he spreads him gently, slowly, just letting him get used to the sensation of his hole being opened and exposed, before leaning over to wrap his lips around his cock and swallow him down.

Saints, but even in his dreams Balthus is still huge and thick. Sacha's groan is low and rough with want as he bobs his head over his lap, his cheeks tight and hollow, all the while squeezing at his ass and teasing his thumb against the tight clench of his hole. This isn't a polished blowjob — it's messy and wet in the hopes that a little slick makes it to that questing thumb — but Sacha doesn't seem all that bothered by the fact that he's evidently employing the skills he learned as an Embarr whore.

What does it matter, when the name of the game is making Balthus feel good? What does it matter if, in turn, that makes him feel good too? )

[He remembers this, distantly — not because the memory is old but because recollection at all is always a little funny where dreams are involved. But there was a time, yes, when Yuri laid him out like this and surprised him by touching him in ways he hadn't been touched before, and it had been sort of like this only he wasn't as welcome to come whenever he wanted, and he'd been allowed to keep his feet on the bedspread.

This is different, more vulnerable, more exposed. Being flipped on his back like this is reminiscent of a brawling defeat — thrown off his balance, turtled onto his back, legs in the air. Not a position he finds himself in, often, and for a second he can't help but feel a little gawky as his thick thighs are spread to make room and his feet dangle from his ankles.

But Sacha is nothing if not a perfect distraction, and when he finds himself squirming it's not to try to get further into the heat of his mouth; it's because the way his thumb keeps brushing over his entrance feels secretive and shivery and good, and he remembers a time when slender fingers hooked inside and found something in him that turns his whole world white-hot like a nova star.

Shaking, his hand darts down and taps lightly against Sacha's cheek, trying to warn him like the good, sweet boy he is; it's probably the influence of the dream, but arousal is coiling up inside him fast and his throat is too occupied with the noises he's making to even begin to try to forge them into real words.]

Hhh...nnnh, hah, ah —

[In another time and place, he'd be embarrassed by how fast he comes from the tempest of attention Sacha shows him; now, it's just a sign that he's not even bothering to try and hold himself back. He's simply a conduit for the pleasure Sacha is stoking in him, taking it all and absorbing it and letting it magnify inside him, and his climax does bring him relief but it certainly doesn't quell his arousal; even after he's still half-hard, still flushed and dripping, his cheeks ruddy red and his eyes glassy.]

S...Sorry...I just. I couldn't...

( He really is a good, sweet boy. Sacha lifts his gaze up to Balthus's face at the little tap to the cheek, flashes him a wink, just in time to feel him swell and flex and begin to spill over the back of his tongue. It's no secret between the two of them that he relishes this part: his expression turns slack and dreamy as he swallows him down, savoring the taste of him, before pulling off with a soft groan so that he can make a mess of his abs as well.

Sacha said he wanted him soaked, and he meant it. Swallowing him all down would be counter-productive.

He licks his lips with a lazy flick of his tongue as he gives himself a moment to assess his handiwork. Balthus looks incredible like this: his thighs wide, splayed, just waiting to be licked and bitten; his cheeks flush and his eyes sparkling in the aftermath of his orgasm. There's no part of him Sacha doesn't love — that he doesn't want to worship with his lips and his tongue — and he sighs his pleasure before lowering his head to rub his open lips up and down the glossy curve of his cock. )

This is for you, B. Don't apologsise, just enjoy.

( Slender hands slide back up to grasp the thick meat of his thighs, digging little half-moons into his skin as he laves his tongue over his balls, the crease of his 'V', that tight stretch of skin just above his hole. )

Saints, but you're turning me into a greedy man.

( He breathes, his tongue slipping between his cheeks to flick against that tender knot of muscle. Sacha pushes his thighs back further, holding him bent double as he laps and laves at his sticky entrance, then seals his lips around it and sucks before popping off with an obscenely wet little sound. One of his hands skims over to Balthus's cock, stroking him in a quick, firm rhythm as he lowers to other to keep his hole spread, before nosing back in again to catch the very tip of his tongue in that tight clench of muscle—

And flatten it into another lick teasing lick. )

Tell me you want it, Balthus.

( He tickles him again with that pointed tip, just a suggestion of penetration before placing another sloppy kiss against his hole. )

Tell me you want me to eat your hole like I'd eat a woman's pussy — that you want my tongue in you, fucking you, making a meal out of your perfect ass.

W-Wait, what are you...

[There's really no way to describe how he feels other than "filthy", at this point — the divine sort of filthy both in body and in spirit, wrecked more from the recognition of just how wound up he must've been to shoot off so prematurely, and simultaneously both sated and craving more as his own spend spatters from Sacha's lips to his body, his thighs still twitching, his breathing still labored.

It's like he doesn't know what to do with himself, on some nebulous level. He's never been the focal point of such unbridled attention — though he's come close a few times, to be sure, even if sooner or later he always drifted back into trying to please in return. He doesn't know how to just lie back and take so much pleasure being lavished onto him with such abandon; it's like at every new corner he's poised and ready for a request, a direction, a way of giving something back, and each and every time he's simply told to take more, feel more, enjoy more.

He's used to growing stronger when he's pushed. Rising to the challenge. This is just the opposite — he's pushed and pushed and it's always so sweet and so loving, coaxing him to open up and surrender more, reassuring him even as he's urged to give back less and less.

And maybe that's why even his protests don't sound like words of denial. Like he's incredulous, maybe — astonished, overwhelmed. But even when he says no, it's never a no. It's never a stop. There's no mistaking what it really is, even if he's far too far gone to spell it out.]

Oh, Saints, don't — no, you're not — you can't —

[Except that Sacha can, and he's going to, and it seems as though Balthus's arousal-fogged mind has just made the connection, just a few sparse seconds before the tip of his tongue starts to flick against his exposed hole.]

Sacha — !

[It's no wonder that his hands find their way into Sacha's hair, desperate and so utterly brokenly relieved that he hasn't been forbidden from doing it. And yet he doesn't even grip and pull, though he could; even like this, he pets and strokes, inclined to affection even when he's been given full license to be greedy, because that's simply the instinctive nature of his big heart.]

Can't...I can't say that...hhh, I...oh, oh fuck, please...

( Now, that sounds about right. Sacha's smile curves against the meat of Balthus's ass before peppering kisses there, hot and suckling, before nosing up to the swell of his balls to give them a lazy little nuzzle. )

Yeah? That's too bad, Sweetness. If you can't say it, you can't have it ... and I kinda think you want it.

( He leans up to slide his tongue up the curve of his cock again, all the while rubbing the pad of his thumb against the spit-slick clench of Balthus's entrance. It's been too long since he's spoiled Balthus like this — took long since he took control of his lover's pleasure — and Sacha places a wet kiss to the head of his cock as if in apology for holding out on him. )

I get it, though ... it's my fault. I've never shown you how good it can be before, have I?

( His fingers (and tentacles), sure, but Sacha's never eaten Balthus out, and he can't help but anticipate the moment when he'll get to turn his world completely upside down. He gives the head of his cock a few leisurely sucks as he presses against his hole gently, then a little more firmly, before easing his way back down to run his tongue over it again. )

C'mon, babe.

( He presses his thumb against Balthus's perineum, massaging firmly enough to give his prostate a very gentle tease. )

Just once. Tell me you want me to do it, and I'll do it.

[He's going to keep doing this, Balthus realizes dizzily, drunk on sensation and the way Sacha is winding him up so perfectly; he's going to keep teasing, keep tempting, and it's working because under any other set of circumstances Sacha's mouth on his cock would feel like a reward, but right now all he can think of is the loss of his lips and tongue elsewhere, the ache of having them move away.

It feels surreal, how thoroughly he's embraced this. It's a game that they're playing, even now, and yet he's utterly committed to it, even the slightest thought of resistance long since gone from his mind because he's too caught up in seeing where Sacha leads him next, letting him hold the reins firmly in hand while he simply rides along with the current.

Sacha makes it so easy, really. Simple choices, easy requests. Tell him what he wants, and he can have it; nothing in his life has ever been so easy, and that makes this a treat in itself.]

J...Just once...?

[He finds himself echoing Sacha's words less from any sort of hesitation or lack of understanding, and more just to buy himself a few extra moments to remember how to make his voice work, far too preoccupied with trying to keep up with everywhere he's being touched, all the different sources of sensation drawing his attention from one point to another to another.

He wants — what does he want?

Inside. Inside him, yes, that's what he wants, it all feels so good but that, that somehow would be best, or at least the thing he wants most right now. Every time Sacha's thumb presses against him it feels so good, but it's nothing compared to feeling the flicking of his tongue on his cock and desperately aching to have it somewhere else.

And all he has to do is ask for it. Just once. It leaves his face flaming, his breath ragged, his eyes glassy. He gulps and shudders and hitches up his hips, trying to lift them just a little bit higher, asking for what he wants implicitly while he tries to get the words out.]

Put...uh, I, I want...please — I want, please, I...

[He swallows hard, eyes squeezing shut. He wants it so bad. He wants everything.]

Fuck my — my h-hole, with, with your tongue, please, I want it, do it, please...!

( Those words melt over Sacha like hot honey, his lips curving into a sweet little grin as his nuzzles the tip of his nose against Balthus's perineum. When he pulls away he soothes over his inner thighs with a slow stroke of his palms: )

There, see? I knew you could be good for me.

( He realises, now, that Balthus wants to hear it — that needs to hear that soft confirmation that he's doing well and being good. It twists something deep in Sacha's chest to know that his eagerness for praise is because he spent most of his life starved of it; that he was sidelined, locked away, even hunted down by that cruel bitch of a step-mother.

Well, the joke's on her. Balthus has him to look out for him now, and Sacha is going to spend the rest of his days making sure he knows how much he's loved.

... He'll also probably assassinate her at some point convenient to the both of them, but those are thoughts for later, when he's less involved with tonguing at his hole. )

And if you're good — if you ask nicely — I'll give you anything you want. Always.

( Sacha tosses a playful wink up an his poor, wrecked lover before nuzzling back in, his tongue stiffening to a hot, wet point that presses gently at his entrance. It takes a moment of gentle convincing — loosening, softening, just a little coaxing with easy licks — but the moment the tip sinks in? Sacha moans, his fingers clutching at Balthus's ass to help spread him open a little wider. )

I don't — I don't know what to do...

[He can barely manage to string words together around the sounds that are spilling from his mouth, but when he does they're faint and a little bit plaintive, thready with need and uncertain desire. Every flick of Sacha's tongue seems to steal away a little bit more of his focus, narrowing down his world into the nerve endings being teased and tickled, and the most he can remember to do is rock his hips in rhythm with it and let his hands tremble from indecision because he doesn't even know where to put them anymore.

He feels overwhelmed, and adrift, and he knows he's safe but Sacha's reassurance gives him hope, too, and like a lifeline he decides to test it, his cheeks red and his eyes squeezed tightly shut while he pants for breath.]

Please. Tell me. Tell me to do...something...

[His head falls to the side, burrowing into a thick lush pillow that's probably always been there, right where he needs it.]

Something. So I — aah! — I know where, where I am...

[They're the wrong words, he realizes hazily. What he meant to ask for is something to help ground himself, something to hold onto. A calm eye in the midst of a storm of arousal and sensation, a note of gentle comfort amidst his symphony of rampant desire.]

( Sacha can hear that desperate edge in Balthus's voice — and for a moment he's struck with how powerful it makes him feel to know that his lover is whining and begging for something from him. It feels ... important, somehow, and Sacha decides then and there that this is something for him to cherish — something he'll only ever do to soak Balthus — his Balthus — in the pleasure he deserves. He laps at him softly before lifting up just enough to press a sweet kiss to his inner thigh: )

See? Still being good for me ... still telling me what you need.

( Violet eyes filled with adoration search for Balthus's gaze as, slowly, Sacha slides one of his hands over his lover's hip to come to rest against his waist. )

I'm here, Sweetness. I've got you. Hold my hand, yeah?

( Light kisses flutter their way back down to his hole, still wet and shining from the attention he's been laving against it. Sacha nuzzles softly, his lips dragging over his entrance before he presses a kiss against it properly: )

And since you'll have a hand free, how about this: I want you to suck your fingers for me. Get them nice and wet, then after you come again I want you to fuck me with them.

[It feels like he could cry, almost, just from the sweet relief of hearing those three easy words — hold my hand. In another place and time, maybe he'd feel stupid and self-conscious for being so comparatively needy, but right now the only thing that seems to matter is the gentle encouragement in Sacha's tone, and the feeling of sliding his own hand down to find Sacha's fingers where they're waiting for him on his belly.

It's such a small thing, but he feels better already — and it's not just the way that the touch anchors him, but the tenderness of treating it as though he'd done something good by asking, like there's nothing he could do right now that would result in admonishment or disapproval, so long as he's trying to ask for the things he wants, and to let himself want them to begin with.

Clumsily, he tries to get his other hand up to his mouth, accidentally bumping himself in the chin while he tries to remember how to fit fingers between lips. But it feels good to have something to center himself on, too, and his hips rock a little more steadily as some of his anxiousness quiets, and he starts messily pushing his own fingers in and out of his mouth.]

I want that, too...

[He mumbles, the syllables running together as his thoughts spiral away from him, as he feels himself getting close again.]

Inside. Touch me inside...please...?

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