A Few Self-Indulgent Scenes with Edmund

[illicitresearch]

Who: Zexion & Edmund Pevensie
Where/When: City of Ariel (Pre-Reboot), A Fussy "Prudish" Tearoom on a Chilly Late Afternoon
Warnings: Foodporn, Footsie, All that underaged sex good stuff that comes from a heavily aphro'd game context.


The end of Zexion's nose was still a fierce shade of pink by the time he finally shed his outer layers and unwound his scarf, and it still felt colder than the rest of his face, prompting the habitual rubbing between service as the tea parlous maids bustled about, shooting disapproving looks and tutting and gaping in wide-eyed disapproval at couples fondling each other beneath the twee tables as if that were actually a scandalous offense.

It was all tongue-in-cheek play, of course, and that in itself was marvelous people-watching entertainment, if not for the spoils of his own present company. Upon Edmund's arrival, he held up his own shrunken cup from its saucer with sly guilt playing at the corners of his mouth, along with a rich brown smear that he licked away with far less sublety than was proper, shrugging.

"I know, I know, skipping tea for drinking chocolate's a right punishable offense by your sensibilities,"  He surrendered, easing his shoulderblades back against the parlour chair and setting his cup back down. "But alas, it tempted me, I simply couldn't help myself."

The array of sweets seemed unfairly delectable today too, three tiers of crispy, fudgey and chewy, ganache truffles oozing caramel and delicately half-dipped rolled wafers, rich two-bite black forest cakes and other attractive morsels rolled in crushed nuts and candied peel.

Comments

[illicitresearch]

In rare form indeed- Zexion wasn't sure what to blame anymore. It was easy enough to flatter his present company, or accuse the cold, or the whims of a ravenous libido aided by every act of Ariel's conditioning. Or perhaps it was a sign of that which Riku had said he was entirely capable of regrowing, given enough time to heal from the woundedness made in darkness, a place secure enough to foster an opening for the light to come in and maybe a little extra nurturing for a heart that had spent too many years atrophied in neglect, denying itself.

If ardor was any part of cause for coziness, then Zexion might just be brimming with it, and intoxicated, having built up no natural tolerance for the effects of a healthy, passion-born flush. With Edmund rubbing at his bottom and dropping frustratingly soft kisses on his mouth, a strange sentiment of playful tenderness between them, it was only a matter of seconds before feeling began to snowball, sentiment overwhelming.

Years now in Ariel, and Zexion still did solicit kisses from many of his partners, mostly because apart from the few he'd practiced with to the point of comfort, he did not know what to do with himself when his head began to spin and his chest began to ache and his lungs began pushing doubletimed gasps through his nose, tension rising through him like tightly coiled hysteria.

When it starts this time, rather than panic, he simply rides it through with Edmund's coaxing and finds himself pushing into his hunger, freezing up for barely a moment before shuddering and shifting his weight, planting a hand past Edmund's shoulders and turning his body against the windowledge, pressing in against him until his shoulderblades are backed against the frosty pane. The hips gripped so covetously in Edmund's clutch begin to throb and sway in need of a proper ride, and in what feels like a very narrow span of time, Zexion is making more of an assertive advance than he intended, lips catching up with clumsier, grasping motions, sticky-wet and just noisy enough to keep him blushing with self-consciousnes for the tiny sounds that meet his burning ears.

What's gotten into him is a fine mess of sudden aggression. He can't seem to will himself to stop, not with the way he's hardening fast and pushing with his weight in no uncertain terms and a spiraling sense of urgency, all of Edmund's clasping and clutching and touching demanding a response. Shoving at the cube of Turkish Delight with his tongue, as if to press it past Edmund's lips and surrender all rights to swallowing it entirely, seems only a diversionary tactic.... because in the next moment his knee lifts, one shoe leaving the floor wholly, to grapple at his companion's flank and pin him against the windowframe. Not only kings, it seems, can find themselves driven to full pursuit.

[just_edmund]

Ariel makes it easy to not scrutinize too hard the fine line between lust, longing, affection, and anything else that might be making their hearts beat faster and their skin flush with bracing warmth. As long as he's got Zexion's undivided attention, that fervent embrace of arms and legs and lips keeping him grounded and wanted, Edmund finds nothing whatsoever lacking in his dear chum's feelings on the matter.

There's the familiar snifffles and fidgets that are surely prelude to a breaking-off, eventually, sooner or later whenever the communion of lips becomes too much for Zexion to bear. And yet, yet...there's Zexion's mouth making even freer with his own, suckling like a greedy babe wholly free of shame, as Edmund's pressed backwards and into the cool solidity of the window pane. He blinks in surprise, and then in a covetous return of grasping caresses, his mouth turned up and parting to better admit Zexion's astonishing display of eagerness for kissing.

There's not even the paltry excuse of a treat to share anymore, once the candy is thrust between his lips and begins to melt entirely into a gooey puddle on his tongue. Their mouths meet simply to meet, mingling unabashedly. Oh...and the knee against his hip crease sends his pulse spiking in delighted rampage, all too happy to interpret the signal of something less fleeting than mere kisses. The half-erection he'd been nursing ever since the wet kittenish touch of Zexion's tongue burgeoned into full-blown stiffness at the promise of some enthusiastic grinding.

He's diverted, all right.

Basking in the furious pursuit seems the only proper thing to do, along with (of course) a very polite and fitting return of solicitous attentions. Edmund drags the shimmying hips against his own and twists slightly so that Zexion's knee is between his thighs, and his own leg is perfectly positioned to nuzzle into the groove of Zexion's where leggings and long outer layers cannot quite hide the tempting bulge-shape beneath. He presses a thigh to the bunched fabric. Let Zexion have some reward for the excitement of being pinned against a window and snogged like they'd just discovered how to.