Underneath your surface, inside your veins (Oneshot)
Title: Underneath your surface, inside your veins (Oneshot)
Author: dieinthewinter
Pairing: Ryan Ross / Simon Rowlands
POV: Second, Ryan's
Bandom: Panic at the Disco, My Passion
Rating: NC-17
Beta: letogyllenhaal
Warnings: Blood Kink, Sex
Disclaimer: This isn't true (at least I think so) and I don't own them, as you might know already ;)
You're writhing already. Wrists tightly cuffed to the headboard of your huge bed, your favorite grey scarf blind-folding you as you desperately try to buck up and find the tips of cold fingers… The calloused skin and the ecstasy they bring.
I know you smell it deep inside your nostrils and you think you can taste it on your bitten, swollen lips, even though we both know that you don't.
Your body wants it, just as much as the rest of you. So pale and smooth, angelic. The only failure breaking the perfect picture is the thick, blunt cut shortly above your waist and another one running an inch above the line of your collarbone.
And it's so beautiful. The red prickling from the fresh wounds, longing.
How it rushes down your form with the arch of your back, when I barely brush the outline of your cock straining against your lower abdomen. You whimper, tongue running over your dry mouth and I'm sure you'd be coming if only you could see.
You will. Just not yet.
My fingers absent-mindedly dance over untouched skin, wandering along the fine muscles anyone can barely see, never reaching the red lines, because it is too precious to waste. The blood.
You breathe hastily as my thumb draws over you hip, sharp and gorgeous and so close to the masterpiece of ink clinging to your surface and catching your youth in it. A flower, both simple and pretty. Like the way you use to show affection. It sings, hushed, about your thoughts behind it and the precious pain you loved to feel when you got it.
And it turns me on. Fills me with heat.
I shift your balls between my fingers and you're choking on your breath.
Too fast for you to register properly, I lean my body over yours, needily searching contact to bare flesh; the red liquid now crawls onto my skin. Careful, but with strong effects. Your chest rises against my ribs barely covered with anything humanly; as I let my lips hover over those I like to possess in moments like this.
My ears are listening, full of attention for the next of your gasps that I suck into my lungs, keeping the shiver moving while my finger slides down, only feeling over your entrance, but not going any further. Too dry. Too intruding. I want to have you. Not hurt you. At least not when it leaves you being uncomfortable.
„Ryan,“ you whimper and I notice the suffering; a familiar tone that almost makes my heart crack a little. I kiss you. Gently. Some would call it loving. Because I care… About you.
Your frame melts into it, relieved and sighing with the way you squirm. You press closer, seeking shelter from the loneliness and the lust that's clouding your mind. Searching for me.
My tongue runs over your lower lip, asking for permission; even after all those times it has been allowed already. I'll probably never stop respecting you and everything you are. Because you're the most amazing thing in my life. The most solid one I can call my own.
An adventure and a story I'm never going to be tired off. As if you were my favorite melody. Maybe you are.
I'm craving for your eyes, so brown and warm and deep. And even though the image is so indestructibly clear in my head, it's just not enough. It never is when we're separated.
Still kissing you, lazily and intense like nothing else would matter right now, my hands reach for the fabric around your eyes and you freeze for a surprising moment when my fingers run through the messy strains of raven-black hair, so soft and comfortable on the alabaster that is my skin.
My mouth stills against yours for the break of a second, and you wait… For an explanation.
„I've got you,“ I whisper, barely any vocalization to the breath that's brushing over your face, and ends up damping the blindfold, which loses its grip around your skull.
„You never even stopped to do so,“ is you answer. There's a little insecurity in your monotonous voice, but so much more emotional than my own. From a human-being so much more wonderful than I am.
I stare at you. And you look at me without any loss of orientation. Directly into my soul. And you know. You always do. The blown pupils can tell, and the knowledge in your eyes.
I'm under a spell and I didn't even recognize the point of you winning me over. One of the rare times in my life of giving up control.
It's getting dry; your blood on my skin. And it imprints your name onto my will, staying there for as long as you want.
„Ryan, please!“ you ask quietly, and I could make you beg so easily. Pleading for my hands, my lips, me inside you, around you. Everywhere.
I could make you whimper and whine and scream. Break your will and the entireness of your pride.
But I don't. Because it's the best thing you own. The strongest feature of your personality. Overpowering the beauty and the kindness.
I nod, once again pecking your lips before I am lifting myself up a little, knees robbing south to direct me back to my creation and find they are still living; open and liquid.
I feel you watching me, your gaze tingling as I start to get nervous. I'm urging to be perfect for you, whenever we're together, afraid of never being good enough. Not being worth your heartbeat.
Not sure if I'm supposed to, I fit my mouth over the wound close to your neck, only slightly touching it when you flinch and moan at the same time, and I relax with relief when the pleasure in the tone overpowers the pain.
I press a little more, tongue running through the slit parting your skin. There's a little cry falling from the pink plumpness as I start sucking lightly - the fluid filling my mouth with a scent of iron and sin - full of concern to not overload your emotions.
Your upper body leans towards the contact as a mantra of pleadings, and my name rises from your throat. Your erection bucks up to mine, waking the awareness of the extreme tension holding onto my limbs.
I'm simply shoving it away. Pleasuring somebody else never felt so good. Being selfless has never been this right to me.
The bed creaks from your fists fighting and struggling against the cuffs keeping them in prison, and you try to rub yourself over my thigh.
With one last lap, I'm withdrawing from the injury and I build contact with your eyes again, orbs recently showing behind the fluttering lids.
You stare.
At the blood smeared around the lines framing my mouth and the sharp want in my eyes. Hair sticks to my forehead in a mess, and I see something on your face: 'You're beautiful. More than you ever were'. And I finally believe it. Because it's you.
Unsteady palms find their way to yours, and I start untying the knot holding you back from touching me, digging your nails into my skin and break it, crawling into my veins.
The way you're sinking your teeth into my Adam’s apple, introduces me to you taking over now, in your very own style.
„You're ready for me, aren't you, Ryan?“
I exhale shakily as your hands fall free and fingers immediately entangle with my own. Too bony to offer any comfortable feeling, but obviously familiar enough for you to cling to them and squeeze a little tighter.
„Simon“
Whimpers.
Now I am the one pleading, legs spreading wider over your crotch and your cock slips between my ass cheeks, creating sweet and innocent friction. I bite my lower lip as the fingers of your right hand tip over my chest, scratching to leave reminders of your own and decorate your nails with the crusty pieces of your own blood.
Then your reach for your own member, grip tight as you fist yourself a couple times, and finally guide it to my hole. It's never too much to take.
You push into me, prepared and wet, and we both freeze from the intensity.
„You've been so ready for me since I pushed you onto the bed, and asked you to hurt me. To take control, because I trust you. So gorgeous when you fingered yourself open for me. So desperate when you fucked yourself on your wrist mercilessly, cause it just wasn't enough. Cause you wanted me to tear you open and make you feel, like nobody else can.“
I blush shamelessly.
„And I couldn't do anything despite watching. It was punishment, Ryan. And now you're going to feel it,“ you hiss breathlessly as you force yourself in to the hilt in one thrust, and I cry out hoarsely. It's too good. Too much of what I want.
I slump onto you, urging for a bruising kiss that shares your blood between us, and you start a brutal pace, knowing we've been dancing around this for too long already.
My face scrunches up when you hit the right angle, and gift me with the most enjoyable feeling of heat and waves and pleasure ever.
Your arms wrap around me, ignoring the prominent height difference, and you're making me a part of your being as the climaxes shake our bodies with a violent effort. There're cries of pain and pleasure. Affection.
Your hand tangles in my hair at the back of my skull, and you feel exhausted when you speak against my forehead.
„Mine will be yours, Ryan. As often as you want“
And then you take me back on your shelter, keeping me save.
Author: dieinthewinter
Pairing: Ryan Ross / Simon Rowlands
POV: Second, Ryan's
Bandom: Panic at the Disco, My Passion
Rating: NC-17
Beta: letogyllenhaal
Warnings: Blood Kink, Sex
Disclaimer: This isn't true (at least I think so) and I don't own them, as you might know already ;)
You're writhing already. Wrists tightly cuffed to the headboard of your huge bed, your favorite grey scarf blind-folding you as you desperately try to buck up and find the tips of cold fingers… The calloused skin and the ecstasy they bring.
I know you smell it deep inside your nostrils and you think you can taste it on your bitten, swollen lips, even though we both know that you don't.
Your body wants it, just as much as the rest of you. So pale and smooth, angelic. The only failure breaking the perfect picture is the thick, blunt cut shortly above your waist and another one running an inch above the line of your collarbone.
And it's so beautiful. The red prickling from the fresh wounds, longing.
How it rushes down your form with the arch of your back, when I barely brush the outline of your cock straining against your lower abdomen. You whimper, tongue running over your dry mouth and I'm sure you'd be coming if only you could see.
You will. Just not yet.
My fingers absent-mindedly dance over untouched skin, wandering along the fine muscles anyone can barely see, never reaching the red lines, because it is too precious to waste. The blood.
You breathe hastily as my thumb draws over you hip, sharp and gorgeous and so close to the masterpiece of ink clinging to your surface and catching your youth in it. A flower, both simple and pretty. Like the way you use to show affection. It sings, hushed, about your thoughts behind it and the precious pain you loved to feel when you got it.
And it turns me on. Fills me with heat.
I shift your balls between my fingers and you're choking on your breath.
Too fast for you to register properly, I lean my body over yours, needily searching contact to bare flesh; the red liquid now crawls onto my skin. Careful, but with strong effects. Your chest rises against my ribs barely covered with anything humanly; as I let my lips hover over those I like to possess in moments like this.
My ears are listening, full of attention for the next of your gasps that I suck into my lungs, keeping the shiver moving while my finger slides down, only feeling over your entrance, but not going any further. Too dry. Too intruding. I want to have you. Not hurt you. At least not when it leaves you being uncomfortable.
„Ryan,“ you whimper and I notice the suffering; a familiar tone that almost makes my heart crack a little. I kiss you. Gently. Some would call it loving. Because I care… About you.
Your frame melts into it, relieved and sighing with the way you squirm. You press closer, seeking shelter from the loneliness and the lust that's clouding your mind. Searching for me.
My tongue runs over your lower lip, asking for permission; even after all those times it has been allowed already. I'll probably never stop respecting you and everything you are. Because you're the most amazing thing in my life. The most solid one I can call my own.
An adventure and a story I'm never going to be tired off. As if you were my favorite melody. Maybe you are.
I'm craving for your eyes, so brown and warm and deep. And even though the image is so indestructibly clear in my head, it's just not enough. It never is when we're separated.
Still kissing you, lazily and intense like nothing else would matter right now, my hands reach for the fabric around your eyes and you freeze for a surprising moment when my fingers run through the messy strains of raven-black hair, so soft and comfortable on the alabaster that is my skin.
My mouth stills against yours for the break of a second, and you wait… For an explanation.
„I've got you,“ I whisper, barely any vocalization to the breath that's brushing over your face, and ends up damping the blindfold, which loses its grip around your skull.
„You never even stopped to do so,“ is you answer. There's a little insecurity in your monotonous voice, but so much more emotional than my own. From a human-being so much more wonderful than I am.
I stare at you. And you look at me without any loss of orientation. Directly into my soul. And you know. You always do. The blown pupils can tell, and the knowledge in your eyes.
I'm under a spell and I didn't even recognize the point of you winning me over. One of the rare times in my life of giving up control.
It's getting dry; your blood on my skin. And it imprints your name onto my will, staying there for as long as you want.
„Ryan, please!“ you ask quietly, and I could make you beg so easily. Pleading for my hands, my lips, me inside you, around you. Everywhere.
I could make you whimper and whine and scream. Break your will and the entireness of your pride.
But I don't. Because it's the best thing you own. The strongest feature of your personality. Overpowering the beauty and the kindness.
I nod, once again pecking your lips before I am lifting myself up a little, knees robbing south to direct me back to my creation and find they are still living; open and liquid.
I feel you watching me, your gaze tingling as I start to get nervous. I'm urging to be perfect for you, whenever we're together, afraid of never being good enough. Not being worth your heartbeat.
Not sure if I'm supposed to, I fit my mouth over the wound close to your neck, only slightly touching it when you flinch and moan at the same time, and I relax with relief when the pleasure in the tone overpowers the pain.
I press a little more, tongue running through the slit parting your skin. There's a little cry falling from the pink plumpness as I start sucking lightly - the fluid filling my mouth with a scent of iron and sin - full of concern to not overload your emotions.
Your upper body leans towards the contact as a mantra of pleadings, and my name rises from your throat. Your erection bucks up to mine, waking the awareness of the extreme tension holding onto my limbs.
I'm simply shoving it away. Pleasuring somebody else never felt so good. Being selfless has never been this right to me.
The bed creaks from your fists fighting and struggling against the cuffs keeping them in prison, and you try to rub yourself over my thigh.
With one last lap, I'm withdrawing from the injury and I build contact with your eyes again, orbs recently showing behind the fluttering lids.
You stare.
At the blood smeared around the lines framing my mouth and the sharp want in my eyes. Hair sticks to my forehead in a mess, and I see something on your face: 'You're beautiful. More than you ever were'. And I finally believe it. Because it's you.
Unsteady palms find their way to yours, and I start untying the knot holding you back from touching me, digging your nails into my skin and break it, crawling into my veins.
The way you're sinking your teeth into my Adam’s apple, introduces me to you taking over now, in your very own style.
„You're ready for me, aren't you, Ryan?“
I exhale shakily as your hands fall free and fingers immediately entangle with my own. Too bony to offer any comfortable feeling, but obviously familiar enough for you to cling to them and squeeze a little tighter.
„Simon“
Whimpers.
Now I am the one pleading, legs spreading wider over your crotch and your cock slips between my ass cheeks, creating sweet and innocent friction. I bite my lower lip as the fingers of your right hand tip over my chest, scratching to leave reminders of your own and decorate your nails with the crusty pieces of your own blood.
Then your reach for your own member, grip tight as you fist yourself a couple times, and finally guide it to my hole. It's never too much to take.
You push into me, prepared and wet, and we both freeze from the intensity.
„You've been so ready for me since I pushed you onto the bed, and asked you to hurt me. To take control, because I trust you. So gorgeous when you fingered yourself open for me. So desperate when you fucked yourself on your wrist mercilessly, cause it just wasn't enough. Cause you wanted me to tear you open and make you feel, like nobody else can.“
I blush shamelessly.
„And I couldn't do anything despite watching. It was punishment, Ryan. And now you're going to feel it,“ you hiss breathlessly as you force yourself in to the hilt in one thrust, and I cry out hoarsely. It's too good. Too much of what I want.
I slump onto you, urging for a bruising kiss that shares your blood between us, and you start a brutal pace, knowing we've been dancing around this for too long already.
My face scrunches up when you hit the right angle, and gift me with the most enjoyable feeling of heat and waves and pleasure ever.
Your arms wrap around me, ignoring the prominent height difference, and you're making me a part of your being as the climaxes shake our bodies with a violent effort. There're cries of pain and pleasure. Affection.
Your hand tangles in my hair at the back of my skull, and you feel exhausted when you speak against my forehead.
„Mine will be yours, Ryan. As often as you want“
And then you take me back on your shelter, keeping me save.