kink_bingo fill: Mouth-Shaped Bruises (bites/bruises)
You moan as firm fingers curl around your hip, arching your back and swaying into the touch. Purple bruising from the hit you took during the game discolors your skin from ribcage to thigh, and his hand is pressing right down onto the tender flesh. It’s completely intentional, and you shiver at the throbbing ache that runs through you, spreading your legs wider, curving your spine and putting yourself on wanton display for him. You’re rewarded with an amused, appreciative chuckle, and when a soft breath ghosts across the back of your neck you shiver in anticipation.
He slides his hands across your body, mapping the old scars and new wounds alike beneath his fingertips. You press back eagerly into his touch whenever he comes across a bruise or welt, delighting in the fact that of the marks across your back, he himself had put his fair share there.
When he slips one slick, cool finger inside of you, you barely have the chance to moan before his arm wraps around you, pulling you back up onto your knees, settling you against him. Warm lips and even teeth explore the curve of your neck and shoulder, tongue darting out to taste the sweat on your skin as you tremble in want. He sucks at the side of your throat, right over your pulse, the action causing you to go limp in his arms as he marks his claim, even as a second finger joins his first.
You want more, need him to go faster-but this is one of his languorous moods, and no amount of pleading will speed up the process. You know: you’ve tried. All you can do is writhe in his arms as he teases you to the brink, not laying a hand on your cock and you know better than to do it yourself. You use your arms to support yourself against his thighs, leaning back against him as he works his fingers inside of you; tossing your head back and baring your throat in invitation, in enticement.
He snorts, recognizing your attempts at coercion. You let out a low, frustrated whine, which softens into a moan as he bites lightly at the nape of your neck.
But he doesn’t leave you waiting much longer-you hiss your encouragement when the blunt tip of his cock presses against your entrance, gasping breathlessly for more. It’s a slow, agonizing, beautiful burn as he sheathes himself inside of you. He mouths at the skin below your ear, whispering words of endearment as you tremble, telling you how beautiful you look with the painting of colors your skin has taken. His hands curl around your hips, digging into bruised flesh as his lifts you up, rocking you against him as he fucks you slow and gentle and sweet. You arch back against him, one hand reaching back to grasp at his hair, to pull him closer as you turn your head to the side. He captures your mouth in a fierce kiss, teeth sinking into your bottom lip until you taste copper. You groan against his lips, his tongue tracing the wound he made, lapping up the dotting of crimson.
He knows every intimate detail about your body, knows just how to make you squirm-so it isn’t long until you’re close. He nuzzles against your neck, nipping at the scattering of mouth-shaped bruises that he’s left on your skin. His hand squeezes around your cock and you can’t breathe, can’t see; can’t do anything more than spill over his fingers with a keening cry, your body taut against his own. He pants hard against your skin as he continues to thrust, just a few more pumps of his hips before he comes, sinking his teeth hard into your shoulder, marking you for everyone to see the next time you change in the locker room. You smile, then, through the pliant haze, knowing that just as surely you are his-so does he belong to you.
He slides his hands across your body, mapping the old scars and new wounds alike beneath his fingertips. You press back eagerly into his touch whenever he comes across a bruise or welt, delighting in the fact that of the marks across your back, he himself had put his fair share there.
When he slips one slick, cool finger inside of you, you barely have the chance to moan before his arm wraps around you, pulling you back up onto your knees, settling you against him. Warm lips and even teeth explore the curve of your neck and shoulder, tongue darting out to taste the sweat on your skin as you tremble in want. He sucks at the side of your throat, right over your pulse, the action causing you to go limp in his arms as he marks his claim, even as a second finger joins his first.
You want more, need him to go faster-but this is one of his languorous moods, and no amount of pleading will speed up the process. You know: you’ve tried. All you can do is writhe in his arms as he teases you to the brink, not laying a hand on your cock and you know better than to do it yourself. You use your arms to support yourself against his thighs, leaning back against him as he works his fingers inside of you; tossing your head back and baring your throat in invitation, in enticement.
He snorts, recognizing your attempts at coercion. You let out a low, frustrated whine, which softens into a moan as he bites lightly at the nape of your neck.
But he doesn’t leave you waiting much longer-you hiss your encouragement when the blunt tip of his cock presses against your entrance, gasping breathlessly for more. It’s a slow, agonizing, beautiful burn as he sheathes himself inside of you. He mouths at the skin below your ear, whispering words of endearment as you tremble, telling you how beautiful you look with the painting of colors your skin has taken. His hands curl around your hips, digging into bruised flesh as his lifts you up, rocking you against him as he fucks you slow and gentle and sweet. You arch back against him, one hand reaching back to grasp at his hair, to pull him closer as you turn your head to the side. He captures your mouth in a fierce kiss, teeth sinking into your bottom lip until you taste copper. You groan against his lips, his tongue tracing the wound he made, lapping up the dotting of crimson.
He knows every intimate detail about your body, knows just how to make you squirm-so it isn’t long until you’re close. He nuzzles against your neck, nipping at the scattering of mouth-shaped bruises that he’s left on your skin. His hand squeezes around your cock and you can’t breathe, can’t see; can’t do anything more than spill over his fingers with a keening cry, your body taut against his own. He pants hard against your skin as he continues to thrust, just a few more pumps of his hips before he comes, sinking his teeth hard into your shoulder, marking you for everyone to see the next time you change in the locker room. You smile, then, through the pliant haze, knowing that just as surely you are his-so does he belong to you.