It's a stretch and one that makes Ulysse stiffen with a soft noise, eyes closing as a faint shiver goes down his spine as he relaxes down again. Then there's another soft, strained laugh and he glances back, eyes heated and dancing as he points out, "You could... but it would be harder for you to really ride me hard, wouldn't it?"
He even tights down on those fingers, letting Rook know exactly how tight he can get, even as the increase in pressure makes Ulysse himself shudder. It's enough to make his fingers dig into the wood, short nails threatening to draw up some splinters.
"So, you want to be ridden hard?" Rook asks with a rumble of a laughter barely managing to rise out of his throat.
Fuck yes, he wants to ride this hole so hard. The mere thought of it makes him feel dizzy for a moment as Ulysse's fingers tighten around his fingers, making him pause for a moment because the pressure is too much to move. He groans, the sound tight and strained, wheezing out through his nose.
"Aye, there's a thing I can promise you, princess," he murmurs against Ulysse's neck, holding him tight against the barrels as he starts to move his fingers again, fucking Ulysse with determined thrusts.
"I doubt you've a gentle bone in your body," comes the sarcastic response, even as his voice is cut off with a low gasp as the fingers start fucking into him. Ulysse seriously does doubt Rook even knows how to fuck slowly, let alone gently, to be honest.
Ulysse doesn't talk about himself, he doesn't express any preferences, he only reacts. The only thing he wanted was for Rook to ask to be kissed. It makes the mage curious. Before long it'll haunt him to know just how his princess prefers to have his cock...
His finger pauses as he leans onto Ulysse's back, his digits deep inside that tight hole. "Is that what you'd want?" he asks and there is actual genuine curiosity in his tone of voice.
Ulysse doesn't answer at first, more focused on how his body shakes from having those fingers suddenly stop in their movements, sweat making his shirt now stick to his body. Wetting his lips, he huffs a short, husky laugh and glances back again, staring at Rook's face.
"Does it matter?"
Such consideration is rarely used in quick, most likely one-off encounters like these, after all. Oh, he's sure Rook might come sniffing around again when there's a change in weather, but he's got little to offer anyone to even want to stay.
Rook's eyes narrow, almost like he's considering it. There's a nasty little tilt to his brows that says that he knows exactly what he's doing, though. He hums, thoughtfully and nudges his fingers against Ulysse's prostate, almost like an afterthought.
"Here I thought you said something about mutually beneficial-- or was it concessions?"
That fingertip inside him is dancing slowly over his prostate, rubbing circles around it, pressing and pressing again. Rook's mouth finds a spot on Ulysse's jaw, biting down on it, not all that hard but sharp enough to be felt.
Ulysse's eyes close again, brow furrowing a bit as his mouth falls open, soft but still audible gasps forced from him as that finger keeps massaging at his prostate, contrasted harshly by the bite to his jaw. He's absently thinking he's glad he has a beard to hide the mark, because that might be just a bit too obvious a target for Kai's teasing.
... Though to be fair, there's a very good chance any of the other crew will chance upon them at any second.
That's enough, isn't it? Rook groans against Ulysse's jaw as he pulls his fingers out and for a moment he'll have to let the man stand on his own two feet while he fumbles with his belt and trousers. A little bit of magic draws moisture from the air, thickening it as he strokes it onto his cock, hissing between his teeth at the sensation over his ignored dick.
It doesn't take long before he bunches Ulysse's shirt in his tight fist again and pulls the man close to him, his other hand busy to align his cock with that stretched hole and then it's just heat and sinking deeper and deeper with his ears buzzing with busy noise of nothing at all.
"F-fuck..." he lets out a rough curse as he bottoms out, hips pressed flush against Ulysse's.
Ulysse is silent as he's filled, biting down on his lower lip hard to hold back any noises that might try to escape. There's a euphoria specifically to having a cock pressed into him that whites out Ulysse's mind, second only to actually getting to orgasm, and the way his cheeks fill with colour and dazed eyes blink blankly at nothing could easily be mistaken as an expression of climax.
His exhale is shaky and loud while his hands blindly search for the ropes tying the barrels together, fingers curling into them to give him something solid to hang onto. This isn't going to be an easy ride and he relishes the thought. Perhaps he should be more concerned with how clearly pleased the spirit riding him is, feeling those waves of satisfaction washing through him and only intensifying the feeling of penetration, no doubt making his aura ripple for Rook's viewing pleasure, the scent of the ocean growing with a cool breeze coming from seemingly nowhere.
The breeze makes Rook's nostrils flare but he doesn't consciously make a note of the scent. Instead he breathes in deep, his chest filling with air as he lets out a grunt and then another. He's louder than Ulysse, his hands tight as they grip the man, veins protruding from his arms and chest heaving up and down as he tries to pedal back the pleasure that's threatening to overwhelm him.
There's no pulling back from it, though, it comes and it takes when it wants, like the ocean, washing against the rocks of the shore until they're worn down to nothing.
Sex hasn't been like this for him ever since his drowning. It's been muted and sort of boring. But this here, this is vibrant and raw and he has no weapons against it.
He doesn't even notice when his hips pull back until he's driving forward with force, skin slapping against skin, echoed by the ha that erupts from his lips. Then it happens again. Only faster, harder. And keeps happening. Repeatedly, endlessly. His hands find a purchase on Ulysse's hips, pulling him back while he surges forward, driving into him hard and relentless.
The first thrust is met with a low grunt, Ulysse's head bowing and fingers wrapping tight around the ropes as he braces himself. But then the next comes faster and harder, making his mouth fall open on a loud gasp. And then again. And again. Ulysse bites down on his lip again, strained moans slipping past his teeth, expression pained from the sharp, intense pleasure that's being driven into him. The spirit demands it, feeding off their lust combined, it's own deep, echoing voice slipping through with Ulysse's soft, bitten off cries.
A ship is never silent, but it seems so quiet now, while the sounds of their fucking only seem to grow deafeningly loud. From the slick squelches of Rook's cock burying itself repeatedly in Ulysse's ass to the slap of skin and the thumping of the barrels as the slender body is rocked unrelentingly hard and fast into them. Rook's grunts are animalistic and loud, single-minded as he takes his pleasure from the willing body before him, contrasted to Ulysse's barely contained cries and gasps.
He can't remember the last time he was taken so roughly, but by all the seas, Ulysse's loving it. It's likely to leave him weak-legged and unable to sit for the rest of the day, but he's not regretting it, just clinging onto the barrels with increasing desperation to make it last, because it's mind-numbingly good.
There definitely are sounds around them, the lapping of the water against the hull, the birds outside, people talking, walking, working... And yet all Rook hears are those soft, desperate cries that Ulysse lets out. They fill his ear like honey, thick and arousing.
This is definitely not going to be the last time. If it's up to him, Rook will be back for this, frequently.
His fingers cramp, his legs shake, but he doesn't care, as long as his dick isn't giving up too soon, he's good.
After five full minutes of fast and hard, he slams against Ulysse's back, deep inside him, and stays there, panting against his neck as he holds still for a moment, drawing himself back from the edge.
There are no words, but enough is said in the way his arm wraps around Ulysse's chest and pulls him up, flush against Rook's chest. His other hand wraps around the cock bobbing eagerly between Ulysse's legs, curving happily towards his stomach. The thrusts are slower now, sweat sliding between them, Rook's mouth breathing mist on Ulysse's jaw and cheek while he pumps that cock in time of his hip surging forward. After just a brief moment, that hand from lean chest rises up to wrap around Ulysse's throat, lightly so, and then it travels up to cup the man's jaw, turning his face towards Rook. But instead of a kiss, he gets a thumb pressed in between his lips, rubbing possessively over his tongue and lips.
It's the perfect sabotage and a loud moan escaped unhindered as Ulysse's mouth falls open, eyes fluttering open as the tempo is suddenly changed, his cock leaking heavily as it's stroked. Dark eyes blink dazedly as his head is turned, panting against Rook's hand as that thumb slides into his mouth like it belongs there.
Then something seems to click and a lazy smile briefly hovers over Ulysse's face before he draws his tongue along the pad of that thumb, teeth following the slick path in a rough drag. Closing his eyes, Ulysse's lets his head drop back against Rook's shoulder, swallowing hard and panting audibly, voice occasionally slipping through to colour the breathy sounds with wanton enjoyment.
It was warm before. Now Ulysse feels as though they're burning, the running trails of sweat only providing the barest of relief in the intensity of the experience.
The teeth dragging across his roughened skin makes Rook growl somewhere deep within his chest. His cock twists and he buries it inside Ulysse with hard, driving thrusts. That digit trails down from Ulysse's mouth when he tilts his head back against Rook's shoulder, down to his throat and then to his chest, leaving a path of saliva on its wake.
The air of thick with sweat and sex and mist and it's hard to breathe but Rook can't have enough of this. There's sweat in his eyes, his trousers cling to his calves, pooling just above his boots and his wrist is numb from the stroking. But he wouldn't have it any other way.
His mouth chases after Ulysse's jaw, lapping away pearls of sweat from his throat before leaving his mark on a shoulder. Everything is hot, everything, time has lost its meaning a long time ago.
Ulysse's moans are slipping out more and more, now. His eyes are screwed shut as he pushes back into Rook's thrusts, one of his hands leaving the barrels to grip the mage's wrist at his chest, anchoring himself. His heart is hammering right up against Rook's hand as though trying to escape his chest.
"Rook," he groans, turning his head and blindly nuzzling in against the mage's temples. "I'm close, ah-"
His body's now tightening with each thrust, as if it's trying to keep Rook's cock buried deep in him. He's definitely not lying when he says he's close.
It doesn't seem to matter anymore, Ulysse is grabbing his wrist, the first time he voluntarily is touching Rook and that's all it takes. The mage turns his head with a snarled growl and claims Ulysse's mouth with his own, hard and relentless. There's nothing hesitant about that kiss, it's pure filth and possession, his, his, his, this damn pretty little princess is all his right now.
His thrusts are shorter now, but all the more deeper, as if he were trying to carve himself a place inside the other man. They're both teetering on the edge of a release, Rook's hand almost punishingly tight over Ulysse's cock.
The kiss is unexpected but so very welcome, wrenching a hoarse moan from Ulysse that's swallowed by the mage's plundering mouth. There's a small flicker of triumphant satisfaction at the back of his mind, that Rook had been brought to that edge and right on over, forfeiting their little game. Though, really, neither had won or lost, given Rook hadn't asked, and Ulysse hadn't given in.
He'll enjoy the rematch, later.
For now, the tight friction around his cock and the deep thrusts into his ass are driving him to climax. When it comes, it's nothing spectacularly loud or showy, but he feels it intensely. His body stiffens from head-to-toe, spine arching and pressing him tight to Rook's front, mouth growing slack in the kiss as his breath catches, soft, desperate little gasps puffing out with each wave of orgasm that crests in him. Spurting messily into the calloused hand at his prick, Ulysse tries to break the kiss, gasping for air as his body shakes hard in the aftermath, unable to fully relax, the grip on Rook's arm now clinging out of desperation to keep him standing.
It might not be spectacular or loud, but that seems to be Ulysse's trademark, flying under the radar for what a gem he really is. Rook notices him and he sees that release too, the desperate sounds that Ulysse makes, the way he shakes and clings to hard to Rook's arm.
He doesn't have to worry, the mage isn't going to let him fall, no, he's going to be holding Ulysse against himself in a possessive grip, reaching up with the cum-striped hand too to wrap it around Ulysse's throat, his fingers tilting the man's head when he tries to get away from the kiss.
Rook fucks him hard and relentless through those aftershocks while he chases his own completion, his whole body trembling as he slams again and again inside that tight hole. And when he finally crashes over the edge, he groans right into Ulysse's mouth, hoarse and raw, all the amusement and games stripped away.
Rook fucks like a hurricane. That's the only thought that crosses through Ulysse's mind as the mage plows him, his only option to cling on for the ride.
The tattooed throat constricts under that hand as Ulysse swallows hard, panting into Rook's mouth as the mage climaxes himself, his own fingers gentling at the scarred wrist he'd been gripping, stroking almost soothingly over the swarthy skin. His body quivers for a moment before slowly relaxing down, sagging back against the mage, free arm stiffening against the barrels to brace them up as they recover.
What's there to say? It's quiet again as they gather themselves, heavy breaths slipping past their lips to fill the air around them, and Ulysse is still a bit too dazed to even try to speak.
Rook's arm shoots out to steady them against the barrels as well. He needs a few moments to just shudder and steady his breathing as he pants against Ulysse's neck. They stand quietly there as sweat starts to dry on warm skin and finally Rook moves to pull out. But he doesn't pull away far, his forehead resting on Ulysse's shoulderplate as he watches himself slide out of the other man's arse. His breath hitches a little and then his fingers follow, sliding between Ulysse's buttocks, fingering the rim of his loosened hole.
A part of him wants to put those fingers right back in and ride Ulysse again until he comes second time. But he doesn't, he just rubs his thumb over the sensitive flesh for a moment then tilts his head up to rain kisses to the nape of Ulysse's neck.
"Can you stand?" he asks finally, loosening a little his arm that was still wrapped up tight against him.
That thoroughly abused hole weakly shivers under the rubbing thumb and Ulysse lets out a shuddering exhale, dropping his head forward to rest against the barrels. The kisses are nice, making him want to stay a while, to just relish in the soft attention to his neck, but he's been asked a question and he grunts quietly, releasing Rook's wrist.
"Of course," he answers, voice and put-together again, even if it might still be a bit rough around the edges. To prove it, he shifts forward so he's not leaning on Rook, bending over a bit to reach for his trousers, intending to pull them up despite the sticky mess he can feel already leaking from his ass. There's also the streaks the mage's hand had left over his throat, so he knows he's going to have to wash himself off sooner rather than later. Ah well, good sex is always messy, right?
The put-together voice and shifting breaks Rook out of the spell he seemed to be under. Their business here is done, right?
He grunts and then slaps Ulysse's ass before he manages to get the trousers up. There's that infuriatingly pale little smile lingering on his lips again when he steps back while pulling up his own trousers.
There's silence in his mind, finally, his limbs feeling loose and shoulders relaxed. The brewing storm is nothing but a faint nuisance at the background.
There's nothing to say at this point, so he just turns to stride away while wrapping his belt around his waist again.
Ulysse watches the mage walk off, adjusting his shirt and belt, smoothing his hair back into its bun. The spirit roils with anger in his head but he ignores it, closing his eyes and taking several deep, measured breaths to make it settle.
"Why so offended?" he murmurs quietly to it, genuinely curious. After all, this isn't the first time Ulysse has had a quick, handy fuck, but it's the first time the spirit possessing has been quite so... angered in the aftermath. Ulysse can admit he hasn't had quite such explosive and mind-wiping good sex like this, but that's all it was... right?
Shaking his head to himself, he returns to his business, content in knowing the storm should hit soon and settle the spirit. Something tells him it's going to be a violent one.
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perhapstomorrow2020-01-25 10:33 pm
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He even tights down on those fingers, letting Rook know exactly how tight he can get, even as the increase in pressure makes Ulysse himself shudder. It's enough to make his fingers dig into the wood, short nails threatening to draw up some splinters.
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Fuck yes, he wants to ride this hole so hard. The mere thought of it makes him feel dizzy for a moment as Ulysse's fingers tighten around his fingers, making him pause for a moment because the pressure is too much to move. He groans, the sound tight and strained, wheezing out through his nose.
"Aye, there's a thing I can promise you, princess," he murmurs against Ulysse's neck, holding him tight against the barrels as he starts to move his fingers again, fucking Ulysse with determined thrusts.
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Ulysse doesn't talk about himself, he doesn't express any preferences, he only reacts. The only thing he wanted was for Rook to ask to be kissed. It makes the mage curious. Before long it'll haunt him to know just how his princess prefers to have his cock...
His finger pauses as he leans onto Ulysse's back, his digits deep inside that tight hole. "Is that what you'd want?" he asks and there is actual genuine curiosity in his tone of voice.
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"Does it matter?"
Such consideration is rarely used in quick, most likely one-off encounters like these, after all. Oh, he's sure Rook might come sniffing around again when there's a change in weather, but he's got little to offer anyone to even want to stay.
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"Here I thought you said something about mutually beneficial-- or was it concessions?"
That fingertip inside him is dancing slowly over his prostate, rubbing circles around it, pressing and pressing again. Rook's mouth finds a spot on Ulysse's jaw, biting down on it, not all that hard but sharp enough to be felt.
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Ulysse's eyes close again, brow furrowing a bit as his mouth falls open, soft but still audible gasps forced from him as that finger keeps massaging at his prostate, contrasted harshly by the bite to his jaw. He's absently thinking he's glad he has a beard to hide the mark, because that might be just a bit too obvious a target for Kai's teasing.
... Though to be fair, there's a very good chance any of the other crew will chance upon them at any second.
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It doesn't take long before he bunches Ulysse's shirt in his tight fist again and pulls the man close to him, his other hand busy to align his cock with that stretched hole and then it's just heat and sinking deeper and deeper with his ears buzzing with busy noise of nothing at all.
"F-fuck..." he lets out a rough curse as he bottoms out, hips pressed flush against Ulysse's.
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His exhale is shaky and loud while his hands blindly search for the ropes tying the barrels together, fingers curling into them to give him something solid to hang onto. This isn't going to be an easy ride and he relishes the thought. Perhaps he should be more concerned with how clearly pleased the spirit riding him is, feeling those waves of satisfaction washing through him and only intensifying the feeling of penetration, no doubt making his aura ripple for Rook's viewing pleasure, the scent of the ocean growing with a cool breeze coming from seemingly nowhere.
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There's no pulling back from it, though, it comes and it takes when it wants, like the ocean, washing against the rocks of the shore until they're worn down to nothing.
Sex hasn't been like this for him ever since his drowning. It's been muted and sort of boring. But this here, this is vibrant and raw and he has no weapons against it.
He doesn't even notice when his hips pull back until he's driving forward with force, skin slapping against skin, echoed by the ha that erupts from his lips. Then it happens again. Only faster, harder. And keeps happening. Repeatedly, endlessly. His hands find a purchase on Ulysse's hips, pulling him back while he surges forward, driving into him hard and relentless.
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A ship is never silent, but it seems so quiet now, while the sounds of their fucking only seem to grow deafeningly loud. From the slick squelches of Rook's cock burying itself repeatedly in Ulysse's ass to the slap of skin and the thumping of the barrels as the slender body is rocked unrelentingly hard and fast into them. Rook's grunts are animalistic and loud, single-minded as he takes his pleasure from the willing body before him, contrasted to Ulysse's barely contained cries and gasps.
He can't remember the last time he was taken so roughly, but by all the seas, Ulysse's loving it. It's likely to leave him weak-legged and unable to sit for the rest of the day, but he's not regretting it, just clinging onto the barrels with increasing desperation to make it last, because it's mind-numbingly good.
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This is definitely not going to be the last time. If it's up to him, Rook will be back for this, frequently.
His fingers cramp, his legs shake, but he doesn't care, as long as his dick isn't giving up too soon, he's good.
After five full minutes of fast and hard, he slams against Ulysse's back, deep inside him, and stays there, panting against his neck as he holds still for a moment, drawing himself back from the edge.
There are no words, but enough is said in the way his arm wraps around Ulysse's chest and pulls him up, flush against Rook's chest. His other hand wraps around the cock bobbing eagerly between Ulysse's legs, curving happily towards his stomach. The thrusts are slower now, sweat sliding between them, Rook's mouth breathing mist on Ulysse's jaw and cheek while he pumps that cock in time of his hip surging forward. After just a brief moment, that hand from lean chest rises up to wrap around Ulysse's throat, lightly so, and then it travels up to cup the man's jaw, turning his face towards Rook. But instead of a kiss, he gets a thumb pressed in between his lips, rubbing possessively over his tongue and lips.
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Then something seems to click and a lazy smile briefly hovers over Ulysse's face before he draws his tongue along the pad of that thumb, teeth following the slick path in a rough drag. Closing his eyes, Ulysse's lets his head drop back against Rook's shoulder, swallowing hard and panting audibly, voice occasionally slipping through to colour the breathy sounds with wanton enjoyment.
It was warm before. Now Ulysse feels as though they're burning, the running trails of sweat only providing the barest of relief in the intensity of the experience.
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The air of thick with sweat and sex and mist and it's hard to breathe but Rook can't have enough of this. There's sweat in his eyes, his trousers cling to his calves, pooling just above his boots and his wrist is numb from the stroking. But he wouldn't have it any other way.
His mouth chases after Ulysse's jaw, lapping away pearls of sweat from his throat before leaving his mark on a shoulder. Everything is hot, everything, time has lost its meaning a long time ago.
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"Rook," he groans, turning his head and blindly nuzzling in against the mage's temples. "I'm close, ah-"
His body's now tightening with each thrust, as if it's trying to keep Rook's cock buried deep in him. He's definitely not lying when he says he's close.
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His thrusts are shorter now, but all the more deeper, as if he were trying to carve himself a place inside the other man. They're both teetering on the edge of a release, Rook's hand almost punishingly tight over Ulysse's cock.
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He'll enjoy the rematch, later.
For now, the tight friction around his cock and the deep thrusts into his ass are driving him to climax. When it comes, it's nothing spectacularly loud or showy, but he feels it intensely. His body stiffens from head-to-toe, spine arching and pressing him tight to Rook's front, mouth growing slack in the kiss as his breath catches, soft, desperate little gasps puffing out with each wave of orgasm that crests in him. Spurting messily into the calloused hand at his prick, Ulysse tries to break the kiss, gasping for air as his body shakes hard in the aftermath, unable to fully relax, the grip on Rook's arm now clinging out of desperation to keep him standing.
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He doesn't have to worry, the mage isn't going to let him fall, no, he's going to be holding Ulysse against himself in a possessive grip, reaching up with the cum-striped hand too to wrap it around Ulysse's throat, his fingers tilting the man's head when he tries to get away from the kiss.
Rook fucks him hard and relentless through those aftershocks while he chases his own completion, his whole body trembling as he slams again and again inside that tight hole. And when he finally crashes over the edge, he groans right into Ulysse's mouth, hoarse and raw, all the amusement and games stripped away.
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The tattooed throat constricts under that hand as Ulysse swallows hard, panting into Rook's mouth as the mage climaxes himself, his own fingers gentling at the scarred wrist he'd been gripping, stroking almost soothingly over the swarthy skin. His body quivers for a moment before slowly relaxing down, sagging back against the mage, free arm stiffening against the barrels to brace them up as they recover.
What's there to say? It's quiet again as they gather themselves, heavy breaths slipping past their lips to fill the air around them, and Ulysse is still a bit too dazed to even try to speak.
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A part of him wants to put those fingers right back in and ride Ulysse again until he comes second time. But he doesn't, he just rubs his thumb over the sensitive flesh for a moment then tilts his head up to rain kisses to the nape of Ulysse's neck.
"Can you stand?" he asks finally, loosening a little his arm that was still wrapped up tight against him.
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"Of course," he answers, voice and put-together again, even if it might still be a bit rough around the edges. To prove it, he shifts forward so he's not leaning on Rook, bending over a bit to reach for his trousers, intending to pull them up despite the sticky mess he can feel already leaking from his ass. There's also the streaks the mage's hand had left over his throat, so he knows he's going to have to wash himself off sooner rather than later. Ah well, good sex is always messy, right?
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He grunts and then slaps Ulysse's ass before he manages to get the trousers up. There's that infuriatingly pale little smile lingering on his lips again when he steps back while pulling up his own trousers.
There's silence in his mind, finally, his limbs feeling loose and shoulders relaxed. The brewing storm is nothing but a faint nuisance at the background.
There's nothing to say at this point, so he just turns to stride away while wrapping his belt around his waist again.
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"Why so offended?" he murmurs quietly to it, genuinely curious. After all, this isn't the first time Ulysse has had a quick, handy fuck, but it's the first time the spirit possessing has been quite so... angered in the aftermath. Ulysse can admit he hasn't had quite such explosive and mind-wiping good sex like this, but that's all it was... right?
Shaking his head to himself, he returns to his business, content in knowing the storm should hit soon and settle the spirit. Something tells him it's going to be a violent one.