Leave me things or request a starter ★ Slow Tagging ★ I'm bad at sexting ★ Picture Prompt Generators: m/m or f/m ★ kink list but tbh just ask ★ potential tw: underage, drugs, childhood trauma, mental illness, please warn in subject headers ★ in-game/AU continuity optional
[ the best part of fucking in public is that cillian doesn't have to take his clothes off, or at least not more than's required for the job at hand. he's not got his dick out yet, though he's unzipped his trousers and rucked up his shirt, leaving visible the sparse hair on his pale belly and the swirl of tattoo over scar tissue that leads into his white briefs. he can feel the music of the club vibrating the bathroom's grotty tiles and up into his knees. ]
You locked the door, right?
[ throwing a glance over to the door to the men's as though he'd be able to tell. even if anyone else were in here still, or came in, he's probably just this side of not caring. it would be a reasonable assumption to think him drunk, or on something, with the desperate and clumsy way his hands pull at the other's belt, with the thickness of his out of place accent making his words seem slurry, with the carelessness for his own dignity that's brought them both here in the first place. but cillian doesn't drink.
his mouth gets involved too soon, metal of the zip pressing into his pouty lower lip, cloth dry on his tongue. he looks up, eyes bright, intent. ]
Fuck my mouth.
IF THIS IS TOO EMBARRASSING I CAN SWITCH CHARACTERS LOL
[janus nods. they had indeed locked the door, although it unsettles them for a moment that cillian had asked— makes their mind stutter back to the last time they tried something like this, like maybe they hadn't been supposed to lock the door, unless asked.
they'd had a beer. they're grateful for it now. third time's the charm, surely; you can only fail to get off in anonymous bathroom sex so many times before, surely, an orgasm is bound to hit you at some point.
and it's with this optimistic attitude that janus pulls their pants open. button fly through the hole, a tug of the zipper. briefs underneath— they're black, though, because they read about connotations and have little interest in being laughed at. killing's easier than getting anyone to like you, but maybe the healthier reframe is somewhere in between murder and like. janus' cock is hard and red already, lifting out of the elastic when they pull the waistband down.
they put a callused thumb on cillian's jaw, exerting a degree of force that falls between signaled intent and mechanical force, stretching the hinge open, the pale walls of cillian's cheeks. they should say something, they think.]
[ mouth pulled further open, cillian's tongue rests thick and relaxed and pink, just touching the smooth inner skin of his lower lip. pornstar, come-on-my-face kind of tongue. he knows well how blue his eyes are when he looks upwards like this. looking at janus' face instead of his cock.
but the picture he's painting gets ruined by the need for a response. his tone turns dismissive. ]
Not particularly.
[ he swallows without fully closing his mouth, a talent useful for blowjobs and dental work. ]
D'you want to tell me? I can say it, if you're into that.
No, [janus says, pretty quickly, but not so quickly as to suggest they didn't have to think about it. they did. but they realize that getting fucked in the mouth and repeating somebody's name are somewhat incompatible behaviors, and between the two options
well, cillian probably knows what he looks like. blue eyes and a mouth that looks like a puffy circle even when it's closed. i'm into this, they almost say, but they think-- better to show than tell. that's the rule. so they set their cock into the other man's bottom lip, a wet pink collision of wet pink parts, watching the stretch of cillian's mouth as a dick -- theirs -- pries it open. watching for teeth to, a little, even the concerns are not as acute as they are in our other thread, yikes.
besides
besides cillian's so thin, his cheeks so hollow that it's clear to see when the bulge is because of dick moving inside of them. it's nice. his eyes are also nice, even if he doesn't seem-- particularly.]
[ when there's finally a dick in his mouth cillian gives a relieved little exhale from his long nose, lashes fluttering for a moment as his jaw adjusts proper-like. he had begun to think they weren't actually going to get here after all.
his knees slide apart slightly, just shifting his weight even as his mouth goes all suction, sealed around the skin of their cock and working devotedly as they begin to move. dopamine or seratonin or some other shit he doesn't really understand hits fast and sweet, and groans happily, forces his eyes back open to look up ad watch. ]
[there is a part of janus' mind reserved for comparisons and objective measurement and ranking of skills and abilities, clever but rather pressy, competitive, always watching.
there is also a lizard part of their, grudgingly accommodated, that's all impulse and sensation.
these two compartments very rarely agree with one another, but when they do it's usually about two things: death or sex. and right now, cillian does very much appeal. janus tightens their jaw reflexively against some sound trying to get out, but then their foot hits the bathroom stall wall and they have to reach to catch the edge of the balsawood anyway. they stare, rapt, as they push their cock in until cillian's round lip meets their groin, and then as it emerges again shinier with spit than it was when it went in, and again and again, and the sound is nice too— the creaky vibration of cillian's groan as well as the slurp of thickening saliva. janus supposes, they should learn how to make more of them.
a+ for the stranger with the surreal blue eyes. it's a little hesitant, but after a moment, janus lets go of the wall to settle a long hand around the base of cillian's skull, fingers tightening through short hairs.]
[ it's difficult to communicate encouragement with a mouth full of cock — cillian hums again but that could be anything, couldn't it. so he pulls back a way, careful not to let the cock in question spring off where he can't reach it, mouthing kissily along the side. ]
Can move me if y'like.
[ his voice is naturally low, gruff made blowjob gruffer. anyway, that's the equivalent of an enthusiastic yes to having that hand in his hair, heavy and promising at the back of his neck. long lashes flicker downwards as he focuses on taking them back between his lips, barely musky-salt now, just skin and pressure and the rush of wanting to be used like this, to be useful. ]
[janus has punched a lot of people in the face in their lifetime, so they're fairly certain that cillian's lips are puffier now than they were before. round and pink, shaping thickly around the words as he talks. janus stares. under the circumstances, it doesn't feel rude to do so.] All right, [they say. they aren't sure if the distortion is in their voice or in their ears, with the tribal drum accompaniment of their pulse.
they slide their hand a little deeper into cillian's hair. scissor the slick strands of it for a moment, rubbing it between their knuckles.
and then they yank. it's a strange thing -- to have the right to handle someone roughly, to have that freedom with their body, that it's given to them and not something taken with terror. strange isn't bad. nor is cillian's mouth, when janus fucks into it, trying to hollow out the slick cup of the back of cillian's throat with the thrusts, like they might feel out the details of small veins and ridges with the fleshy pink head of their dick.
[ it's just as good to let go. maybe it's that catholic upbringing, but cillian loves to feel slutty, feel used, turned on even by the fresh flush of shame that is marking the broad wings of his cheekbones just as much as the occasional choking sensation. he's salivating hard, unable to properly swallow it despite how his throats spasms to try, and it makes everything messy when it spills out of the corners of his mouth instead, janus' cock making thick wet noises because of it.
cillian makes his own wet noise, something raw, knees slipping a little wider on the tile so he can brace himself better against the thrusts that shudder through his own body. he wants to jerk off, can feel the pressure of his own hard-on like a necessity, but he knows — from experience — that doing so would detract something from the moment.
better to be wholly in this facefucking, aware of his teeth, the shape of his soft palate and tonsils, the hitch of his gag reflex when it's bluntly rubbed, the burning of his lungs as they try to get enough oxygen without just breathing in spit and dick. ]
[it's not hard to figure out the rules. hard— no pun intended. :) ;) hunting and killing has nothing to do with what people want, but it has everything to do with what people are going to do. to murder people with any kind of regularity, you have to be able to see better than a normal man. and that turns out to be—
--not so different, to watching cillian choke a little, near-tears spending themselves with desperation that looks a little sweet across his eyelashes. the shuffle of his knees on the disgusting bathroom floor, and janus only has to lean a few degrees to the right to see the egregious bulge of erection past the gathering slick of saliva down cillian's jaw and the cock-tent of his cheek. when you kill people, sometimes you have to keep them quiet. so maybe
maybe the time for maybes is over.
janus' dick comes out of cillian's mouth sudden as spit. they seize the man by his arm, tight enough that he can feel the pinch of fingers against the bones in his upper-arm. and yanks him, sudden enough that the rubber soles of cillian's shoes squeak on the tile. there's a clumsy instant of confusion where they don't— know if they should push his face into the dingy wall or back him into it. in the end, they do the latter, partly because they don't want him to start fucking screaming in terror they could flag ahead of time, looking at his face, and partly a little bit maybe!! to show off that they're strong.
they hoist him up on the toilet tank, which is cold. they pull up his knees with their hand, which are warm. they look at his face. if he screams, they aren't actually— entirely sure what they'll do.]
[ the sharp bite of fingers bruising his arm makes cillian pull a sharp inward breath that just doesn't seem to stop, drawing in and in as he's manhandled upwards. he's gone pale enough that the very barest wide-scattered freckles are left visible, and his pupils are so huge they've swallowed the stormy blue of his eyes. ]
What the fuck.
[ gruff and not particularly emphatic as he grins, face shining with the pleasure of it. he doesn't scream. ]
You're a pushy one, aren't you.
[ he hadn't expected anything more than a mouthful of bleach to come, but now that he's got it, well. no protests here, legs up and all. he mostly seems to be waiting passively for whatever they want to do to him next. ]
[best possible outcome. janus looks at him for a moment, studying the erratic constellation of tiny moles across his nose, the shadows sucked into the hollow spaces under his cheekbones, the punished swelling of his lips. a broken kind of pretty.
lube in a foil packet is in their pocket, separate from their wallet, because girl scouts always come prepared :)x but something about the moment implies to janus that under-prep is better than over- tonight. some things are made for sea air, and some people were made to have the bony peaks of their knees shoved up against their shoulders and a coarse finger shoved between their buttocks. it's odd, a little, how people can vary in their brittle edges and propensity for leather or beaten denim, but still feel so
soft inside. and janus has done this enough, if not exactly in this way, to remember the corkscrew motion, the angle, that they're roughing the skinny boy's body open even if they're being rough with him, listening to the pinch of his breath catching in the folded clinch of his body.]
[ He says, or maybe grunts, an immediate and reflexive response, but then his mind (so effectively distracted by the feeling of fullness and intrusion, strung out on pleasure and humiliation and the need to concentrate on all the good places he's being hurt.) ]
Wait, fuck it, yes.
[ This is transactional enough to parallel sex work even if it's not money they're swapping here, and maybe he should have better boundaries instead of risking all the violin-swell memories of all the other boys he's kissed, or one particular boy he kissed a lot, all the different kinds of kisses and—
Realizing that's confusing, he figures to be proactive and pulls Janus forward, bitten fingernails blunt at the back of their neck, his mouth opening with the same easy softness that it had for their dick earlier. Unlike with the blowjob, he isn't careful with his teeth. ]
[lips, teeth. it's a glorious crush of mouth. they feel the cigarette acridity of his breath mingle with their own, the slick-coarse scrape of his incisors, the scuff of his chin. it's a hot flush of triumph that moves through them, when they feel his body surge up to meet theirs and
they'd had sex out of the context of relationships before-- really, all the sex they've ever had has been deficient of that context. but still, they've never felt like they had the right to treat somebody's body with this rough abandon, finding a home for their tongue and their cock in the wet resistance of another. their fingers scrape and catch on the small gaps between wall tiles. they have to try, to really try not to smile.
and after that, it's a fast, rutting rhythm. sweat seams in between their shoulderblades, the heat of biological friction staving off the chill of the restroom. they paw at his nipples under his shirt, the smear of hair along his skinny thigh. lust coils a fond ache in their gut.
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
bangity jane maybe? honestly you know who is more suited than i, surprise me.
You locked the door, right?
[ throwing a glance over to the door to the men's as though he'd be able to tell. even if anyone else were in here still, or came in, he's probably just this side of not caring. it would be a reasonable assumption to think him drunk, or on something, with the desperate and clumsy way his hands pull at the other's belt, with the thickness of his out of place accent making his words seem slurry, with the carelessness for his own dignity that's brought them both here in the first place. but cillian doesn't drink.
his mouth gets involved too soon, metal of the zip pressing into his pouty lower lip, cloth dry on his tongue. he looks up, eyes bright, intent. ]
Fuck my mouth.
IF THIS IS TOO EMBARRASSING I CAN SWITCH CHARACTERS LOL
they'd had a beer. they're grateful for it now. third time's the charm, surely; you can only fail to get off in anonymous bathroom sex so many times before, surely, an orgasm is bound to hit you at some point.
and it's with this optimistic attitude that janus pulls their pants open. button fly through the hole, a tug of the zipper. briefs underneath— they're black, though, because they read about connotations and have little interest in being laughed at. killing's easier than getting anyone to like you, but maybe the healthier reframe is somewhere in between murder and like. janus' cock is hard and red already, lifting out of the elastic when they pull the waistband down.
they put a callused thumb on cillian's jaw, exerting a degree of force that falls between signaled intent and mechanical force, stretching the hinge open, the pale walls of cillian's cheeks. they should say something, they think.]
Do you want to know my name?
[not that.]
it's fine /pats your face
but the picture he's painting gets ruined by the need for a response. his tone turns dismissive. ]
Not particularly.
[ he swallows without fully closing his mouth, a talent useful for blowjobs and dental work. ]
D'you want to tell me? I can say it, if you're into that.
no subject
well, cillian probably knows what he looks like. blue eyes and a mouth that looks like a puffy circle even when it's closed. i'm into this, they almost say, but they think-- better to show than tell. that's the rule. so they set their cock into the other man's bottom lip, a wet pink collision of wet pink parts, watching the stretch of cillian's mouth as a dick -- theirs -- pries it open. watching for teeth to, a little, even the concerns are not as acute as they are in our other thread, yikes.
besides
besides cillian's so thin, his cheeks so hollow that it's clear to see when the bulge is because of dick moving inside of them. it's nice. his eyes are also nice, even if he doesn't seem-- particularly.]
no subject
his knees slide apart slightly, just shifting his weight even as his mouth goes all suction, sealed around the skin of their cock and working devotedly as they begin to move. dopamine or seratonin or some other shit he doesn't really understand hits fast and sweet, and groans happily, forces his eyes back open to look up ad watch. ]
no subject
there is also a lizard part of their, grudgingly accommodated, that's all impulse and sensation.
these two compartments very rarely agree with one another, but when they do it's usually about two things: death or sex. and right now, cillian does very much appeal. janus tightens their jaw reflexively against some sound trying to get out, but then their foot hits the bathroom stall wall and they have to reach to catch the edge of the balsawood anyway. they stare, rapt, as they push their cock in until cillian's round lip meets their groin, and then as it emerges again shinier with spit than it was when it went in, and again and again, and the sound is nice too— the creaky vibration of cillian's groan as well as the slurp of thickening saliva. janus supposes, they should learn how to make more of them.
a+ for the stranger with the surreal blue eyes. it's a little hesitant, but after a moment, janus lets go of the wall to settle a long hand around the base of cillian's skull, fingers tightening through short hairs.]
no subject
Can move me if y'like.
[ his voice is naturally low, gruff made blowjob gruffer. anyway, that's the equivalent of an enthusiastic yes to having that hand in his hair, heavy and promising at the back of his neck. long lashes flicker downwards as he focuses on taking them back between his lips, barely musky-salt now, just skin and pressure and the rush of wanting to be used like this, to be useful. ]
no subject
they slide their hand a little deeper into cillian's hair. scissor the slick strands of it for a moment, rubbing it between their knuckles.
and then they yank. it's a strange thing -- to have the right to handle someone roughly, to have that freedom with their body, that it's given to them and not something taken with terror. strange isn't bad. nor is cillian's mouth, when janus fucks into it, trying to hollow out the slick cup of the back of cillian's throat with the thrusts, like they might feel out the details of small veins and ridges with the fleshy pink head of their dick.
they make a sound. it's not premeditated.]
no subject
cillian makes his own wet noise, something raw, knees slipping a little wider on the tile so he can brace himself better against the thrusts that shudder through his own body. he wants to jerk off, can feel the pressure of his own hard-on like a necessity, but he knows — from experience — that doing so would detract something from the moment.
better to be wholly in this facefucking, aware of his teeth, the shape of his soft palate and tonsils, the hitch of his gag reflex when it's bluntly rubbed, the burning of his lungs as they try to get enough oxygen without just breathing in spit and dick. ]
no subject
--not so different, to watching cillian choke a little, near-tears spending themselves with desperation that looks a little sweet across his eyelashes. the shuffle of his knees on the disgusting bathroom floor, and janus only has to lean a few degrees to the right to see the egregious bulge of erection past the gathering slick of saliva down cillian's jaw and the cock-tent of his cheek. when you kill people, sometimes you have to keep them quiet. so maybe
maybe the time for maybes is over.
janus' dick comes out of cillian's mouth sudden as spit. they seize the man by his arm, tight enough that he can feel the pinch of fingers against the bones in his upper-arm. and yanks him, sudden enough that the rubber soles of cillian's shoes squeak on the tile. there's a clumsy instant of confusion where they don't— know if they should push his face into the dingy wall or back him into it. in the end, they do the latter, partly because they don't want him to start fucking screaming in terror they could flag ahead of time, looking at his face, and partly a little bit maybe!! to show off that they're strong.
they hoist him up on the toilet tank, which is cold. they pull up his knees with their hand, which are warm. they look at his face. if he screams, they aren't actually— entirely sure what they'll do.]
no subject
What the fuck.
[ gruff and not particularly emphatic as he grins, face shining with the pleasure of it. he doesn't scream. ]
You're a pushy one, aren't you.
[ he hadn't expected anything more than a mouthful of bleach to come, but now that he's got it, well. no protests here, legs up and all. he mostly seems to be waiting passively for whatever they want to do to him next. ]
no subject
lube in a foil packet is in their pocket, separate from their wallet, because girl scouts always come prepared :)x but something about the moment implies to janus that under-prep is better than over- tonight. some things are made for sea air, and some people were made to have the bony peaks of their knees shoved up against their shoulders and a coarse finger shoved between their buttocks. it's odd, a little, how people can vary in their brittle edges and propensity for leather or beaten denim, but still feel so
soft inside. and janus has done this enough, if not exactly in this way, to remember the corkscrew motion, the angle, that they're roughing the skinny boy's body open even if they're being rough with him, listening to the pinch of his breath catching in the folded clinch of his body.]
Do you kiss?
no subject
No,
[ He says, or maybe grunts, an immediate and reflexive response, but then his mind (so effectively distracted by the feeling of fullness and intrusion, strung out on pleasure and humiliation and the need to concentrate on all the good places he's being hurt.) ]
Wait, fuck it, yes.
[ This is transactional enough to parallel sex work even if it's not money they're swapping here, and maybe he should have better boundaries instead of risking all the violin-swell memories of all the other boys he's kissed, or one particular boy he kissed a lot, all the different kinds of kisses and—
Realizing that's confusing, he figures to be proactive and pulls Janus forward, bitten fingernails blunt at the back of their neck, his mouth opening with the same easy softness that it had for their dick earlier. Unlike with the blowjob, he isn't careful with his teeth. ]
no subject
they'd had sex out of the context of relationships before-- really, all the sex they've ever had has been deficient of that context. but still, they've never felt like they had the right to treat somebody's body with this rough abandon, finding a home for their tongue and their cock in the wet resistance of another. their fingers scrape and catch on the small gaps between wall tiles. they have to try, to really try not to smile.
and after that, it's a fast, rutting rhythm. sweat seams in between their shoulderblades, the heat of biological friction staving off the chill of the restroom. they paw at his nipples under his shirt, the smear of hair along his skinny thigh. lust coils a fond ache in their gut.
if life were only this, life would be good.]