come_sailaway | you say the hill's too steep to climb [closed]

you say the hill's too steep to climb [closed]

WHO: Dimitri & CR
WHAT: flower hour aftermath
WHERE: around the ship, the cottage
WHEN: early September
WARNINGS: discussion of codependency, self-destructive behavior, & psychosis; violent nightmares

you pick the place and i'll choose the time (dedue)

Dimitri needs a few days of his own to recuperate; to let the worry bleed away, to let his mind settle back into shape and place.

But then -- well -- he misses Dedue. Not out of any fear; Dimitri just ... misses him. Misses the textured silences, the way his forehead pinches at the buffet food, the sound of his voice when Dimitri can provoke a laugh. Misses all their little rituals and rhythms.

He catches Dedue on the Promenade, calls out to him, and then has to do an uncomfortable half-jog up to speaking distance (how close should he stand? Oh, this is awful).

"I wondered -- would you like to eat together? And perhaps watch one of the documentaries?"

They've both seen the whole sequence half-a-dozen times by now, but if Dedue minds that's news to Dimitri.

and i'll climb that hill in my own way (ossie)

In a text sent to Ossie:
I'm sorry About everything Can I talk to you ? In sand dollars or where ever you prefer

Dimitri just wants to offer neutral ground.

and as i rise above the treeline and the clouds (giles)

For his first few nights in the cottage, Dimitri sleeps dark and deep. He's exhausted beyond dreaming, grateful just to crumple into a real bed, to breathe air not thick with salt. It's a shallow respite, though, and it can't last.

Dimitri's nightmares are quiet, and still. It's for the best. Thrashing in his sleep would quickly prove destructive, if not lethal. So there's no outward disturbance when they start again - only, in the small hours of the morning, a pulse of abject terror from the guest room.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

Dimitri sighs -- more of a shuddering whine -- and lets his hand drift higher. Dedue is softer than he is, padded where Dimitri's all wire and bone. And Dimitri wants to touch him, wants to, wants to --

-- it was probably too much to expect him to last very long. He is eighteen, and it is his first time. Everything is suddenly too much all at once. The world goes white, his body seizes, his toes curl; with a broken cry he comes into Dedue's hand and goes limp, slumped onto his lover's shoulder.

Dedue looks startled for a moment, but then wraps an arm around Dimitri’s back and murmurs reassuringly to him as his other hand takes the brunt of Dimitri’s climax.

He leads Dimitri over to the bed and has him sit down. Looking down at his soiled hand, Dedue breaks the silence with, “Um. I will wash this and return in a moment.” He starts to rise back up from his spot next to Dimitri.

For a few precious moments, everything is warm, and fuzzy, and peaceful. Dimitri is an animal, held softly in his lover's arms.

Then Dedue turns to go, and cold fear lances through Dimitri's chest. He grabs for Dedue's sleeve, certain in a sudden panic that if he leaves Dimitri's sight he'll be taken away in exchange for this pleasure. "No -- no, please -- don't leave?"

Dedue sits back down.

“I am here,” he reassures Dimitri. “I will not leave you.”

Dimitri relaxes again, burying his face against Dedue's shoulder and clinging to his arm. "'nnk you," he sighs.

Which does leave the problem of Dimitri's mess on Dedue's hand. He blinks, blearily, and reaches to pull Dedue's hand into his own.

"I can?" he asks hopefully. "Help?"

Dedue looks a bit confused but lets Dimitri hold his hand, curious as to where this is going to go.

Dimitri did not actually have a plan beyond 'stop Dedue from leaving.' He wipes at Dedue's palm on the end of his shirt, but his hands are too clumsy. Failing that, and seized by an impulse, he pulls Dedue's hand to his mouth and licks it.

His nose wrinkles. Muffled, he says, "That does not taste good."

Dedue has never before thought about something like this. Even so, his body seems to react strongly.

Dimitri’s tongue runs along parts of his hands that he didn’t even realize were that sensitive. He can just imagine what that tongue might feel like elsewhere. It gets the tiniest moan out of him, and his hips roll involuntarily.

Dimitri was not expecting that reaction. But if Dedue likes it ...

He runs his tongue over Dedue's palm more slowly, and asks, "Is this alright?"

Dedue shivers. He feels a bit embarrassed reacting this strongly, but it’s too late now. Giving Dimitri a quick nod, he leans back on the bed and lets Dimitri take control.

Dimitri's breath hitches along with Dedue's shiver. If Dedue is embarrassed, there's nothing but wide-eyed awe in Dimitri's face. He kisses Dedue's palm, and takes his first two fingers into his mouth --

-- and gives an involuntary moan. Oh, that made his head go quiet again.

Someone, someday, might explain the phrase 'oral fixation' to Dimitri. All he knows is that he's happy exploring every crease and callus of Dedue's fingers with his tongue. His mouth feels details of warmth and texture that his battered, half-numbed hands can't. He doesn't have to fear his own touch. He could do this for hours, if Dedue would let him, and never have to think of anything else.

... but he can't be so selfish. Reluctantly, he stops; he kisses Dedue's palm, and cradles Dedue's hand against his cheek, giving him a warm, hazy look. His gaze trails from Dedue's face to his chest. His tongue flicks across his lower lip.

When it becomes apparent that Dedue isn't going to give him orders, Dimitri scrapes together enough speech to ask, "May I undress you?"

Edited 2024-02-08 13:34 (UTC)

Dedue momentarily forgets how to think, but then gives a quick nod, looking up at Dimitri.

Dimitri bites his lip when he slides his hands up beneath Dedue's shirt. Despite his best efforts, an involuntary twitch rips through the seam. He freezes.

His eyes flick back up to Dedue's face. His throat bobs. "M-may I ... ?"

Give up on delicacy, and just tear, he means.

Dedue does look slightly startled at the rip, but then he nods and mumbles, “I was not attached to this shirt.”

"It may be a lost cause already," Dimitri says breathily. "Thank you." He takes two fistfuls of fabric; his shoulders bunch, and the shirt goes to shreds, which he smoothes carefully off Dedue's chest.

His breath catches. No one in the world has ever been more beautiful than Dedue, now, laid out in front of him, throat and chest and belly soft and vulnerable. Like a dream Dimitri will guiltily, hastily, try to purge from his mind come morning, except that Dedue is here in flesh and blood for him to touch, and kiss, and love. Dimitri wants to put his mouth on all of him.

"Oh, my heart, you are magnificent," he breathes. His eyes scour Dedue, shining, near tears. "May I touch you? May I kiss you?"

“Please,” Dedue rasps. His heart threatens to beat out of his chest. He still doesn’t know how to handle the praise that Dimitri is willing to shower him in. It disorients him, makes him dizzy. He needs the bed to anchor him back to gravity.

Where should he start?

He bends to kiss Dedue's sternum. His hand settles on the soft curve of Dedue's chest as Dimitri leans up to kiss the hollow between his collarbones; then his throat, the side of his neck, the soft spot beneath his jaw, every one of the scars on his face, and, finally, his mouth. He's still not very good at it -- one of his teeth catches on Dedue's lip -- but maybe that's alright.

He cups Dedue's cheek in his free hand, and kisses him again, and again, and again, as gently as he knows how. His tongue brushes Dedue's lower lip (he's learning!); if Dedue lets him, he deepens the kiss, sighing wetly.

Dedue gasps as his lip catches, and he rolls his hips enthusiastically. Remembering not to keep everything to himself, he mumbles “...l-liked that.”

He parts his lips wider and lets Dimitri’s tongue in.

That soft affirmation sets a fire in Dimitri's gut. He takes his face in both hands, fingers tangling in his hair; throws a leg over his belly, and bears down into an open-mouthed kiss with a moan of satisfaction. He's leaner than he likely should be, but his weight is solid muscle, dense and warm.

When he has to break away, he catches Dedue's lip in his teeth, tugging briefly. "Like that?"

In response, he moans again.

He enjoys the weight of Dimitri on top of him. The eager joy of Dimitri’s movements allows Dedue to push to the sidelines the embarrassment and shame that naturally arises whenever he is the center of attention. It’s still there, in the corner of his mind, but it’s distant, submerged in fog.

“It’s good...” he assures Dimitri.

Dimitri promptly nips at Dedue's lip again, then kisses him, catching any sound he makes in his mouth. He wants Dedue to moan again; he wants to do anything and everything to make that noise happen.

"I like your voice," he says breathily. Another kiss, this time to Dedue's cheek, then the base of his jaw, then his neck. "May I -- may I bite your neck?" Dimitri's face heats. "May I put my mouth on your chest?"

“Yes please,” Dedue mumbles.

Dimitri finds a spot a shirt-collar can easily cover, and carefully closes his teeth on Dedue's neck, sucking at the skin.

Dedue jerks as teeth clamp down on sensitive skin. “H- Hahhh,” he whimpers. The noise turns into a needy wail. Much louder than he’d been before.

A sympathetic shiver runs down Dimitri's spine. His voice comes out hoarse, breathy. "Is that good?"

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

you say the hill's too steep to climb [closed]

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject