Admissions 1.8: Anywhere is Good (Emile / Cylus)
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Content notes (chapter-specific):
- Lads Making Out In The Elevator, Again
- Breast and nipple play
- D/S dynamics around following orders
- Thinkin' bout sadomasochism
- Dirty talk
- Brief mention/moment of dysphoria
- Opportunity to set useful boundaries, squandered (but it'll be ok today)
- Manual sex, including penetration
- "Making them beg" as a helpful tool when your submissive is being vague
- Use of ‘breast’, 'clit' and 'pussy' for a trans man's anatomy
- Sexposition! (exposition, during sex, because someone has a kink for making someone else lose the power of speech)
- Fantasizing about body modification
- Mild hypnoplay
- Orgasm denial via the laws of physics
This time their bodies remained grounded on the elevator platform. The artificial gravity of Europa City above was partially recreated by the acceleration of their ascent, softened to bearability by the protective field. Still, the weight of it, after the lightness of their descent and of the cavern below, made Emile‘s breath labor.
That, and the pressure of Cylie’s hands: one between his legs, one on his chest, both firm enough to keep his lower back against the rail. Those touches, paired with the golden shimmer of the ice racing past, were almost enough to cast him back into the dreamlike state he’d fallen into on their way down.
"Still. Breathe." Cylie held Emile's eyes, working his breast with slow, exploratory touches. "Remember the rest?"
Emile's froze, obeying the command but yearning to answer the question. Cylus laughed soft and knowing against his neck. "Say it if you can, clever boy."
Emile’s exhale shuddered out of him, the rest of his body as still as his muscles could manage. "Feel. Remember."
"You're so good." Cylus sounded almost reverent; then his voice lowered, teasing. "Now relax. Let your body move how it wants to while I make you feel good. What sort of touch do you like here?" The hand between his legs squeezed.
Emile whimpered, body sagging against the rail as he rocked his hips forward to meet Cylie’s touch.
Emile's pleasure was almost as sweet to Cylie's ears as his pain. Not that any doubts remained about whether Emile was a masochist; the way he pressed his bitten breast into Cylie's hand made it clear that Cylie's earlier overstep had, if anything, inflamed his desire.
But that opinion might change once his sobriety returned. This was Cylus' chance to make up for that mistake, and drown any lingering hesitations in more unambiguously pleasant memories. "Use words," he murmured as Emile writhed and whimpered. "I know you can, and I want to hear you."
"I like... Firm touch..." Emile answered haltingly. "P-pinches, scratching, pulling, even... Slaps, or... "
Cylie swallowed, desire knife-sharp inside his chest. How was he supposed to stop hurting Emile when he said things like that? "Anywhere you don't like having touched?" Though he enjoyed many types of sex quite well, Cylus would sooner cut someone's hand off than let them penetrate the opening he wished he didn't have.
But when it came to the bodies of others, Cylus appreciated a variety of configurations, and a selfish part of him hoped that Emile's openness to touch was greater than his own.
Emile's whole body felt butter-soft, melting into Cylie's hands: one teasing his aching nipple, one cupping between his legs. His voice sounded dreamy to his own ears. "Anywhere is good."
Cylus released his grip on Emile. "Turn around and put your hands on the rail." The rippling golden reflections of the elevator light off the ice cast his face in ever-shifting radiance. His eyes were open wide, shamelessly bright with the hunger Emile had scented from the instant they'd met: a ravenous potentiality with a gravity even more irresistible than that pressing their feet to the floor.
Emile turned around, placed his hands on the rail, and set his feet wide. He closed his eyes as Cylus pressed close against his back: like he had done during the trick in the park, knife whirling before Emile's eyes while he spoke a storm around them both.
But this time Cylus plunged one hand down the front of Emile's trousers, found the band of his underclothes, and wriggled inside.
Fortune's favor, Emile was wet. As his fingers tangled in the soft, slick hair on Emile's mons, Cylie allowed himself a mean little tug, just enough to lift Emile's groan into a gasp.
Cylus believed that Emile meant what he'd said: anywhere is good. But his old teacher's advice—make them tell you where they want to be led—rang louder in his mind. "Beg," he murmured, setting Emile's gendermark earring aflutter with his breath. "Be specific."
"Please, Cylus." Emile's hands gripped the railing. No pretension, no shame, only artless, alluring desire. "Please touch my c-clit, or my—" Cylie lifted his free hand to Emile's cheek, enjoying its heat as he tested the cleft of Emile's vulva below. The lad pressed forward with only a brief falter even as his breath caught, "M-my pussy, or my ass, anything, everything, please, I just want to feel you—"
Cylie interrupted by parting Emile's lower lips in a swift swipe, seeking sensitive flesh between. Useful, knowing how Emile spoke of his own parts; Cylus preferred different words for himself, but that didn't matter right now. What mattered was the slick, swollen bud he found, and the way Emile's body jolted when he began to toy with it.
"Firm touch, you said?" Cylie stroked over the hood, then gathered flesh between his fingers and squeezed until Emile cried out. Nuzzling his face into Emile's neck and licking where the pulse beat beneath bruised skin, he began to work Emile's clit. "Even here?"
Emile shuddered. "Sometimes," he managed, hips rocking forward. Cylus tightened his fingers until Emile moaned, the sound seeming to fill the icy tunnel.
Emile’s voice resonating around them sparked a hungry impulse in Cylie’s mind. "Your sounds are so sexy," he murmured, rolling Emile's clit as he continued to vocalize. "But it's even hotter when you're trying to speak. So talk to me about something. What's on that pretty mind of yours?” He heated his voice, pleased with how Emile arched into him in response. “Besides me, that is.”
Emile's thoughts whirled as the ice blurred past. “W-well, going under the ice... It makes me wonder, about the people who live down there—” Fingers flicked, driving a grunt from his lungs.
"Have you seen any of them yet?” Cylie asked conversationally, tracing a nail of his other hand along Emile's jaw and down the side of his throat. “Can they really breathe underwater?"
"I, I haven’t yet, but, yes, that's my understandin—nnng!" Another flick, sending stars across his vision, dancing over the ice they flew past. "They did mod gills, though they can still breathe air, too."
"Fascinating." Cylus gathered one of Emile's inner lips between two fingers and tugged. "It's been a couple hundred years since they started gene modding, right? I wonder what else they changed. Surely something the brochures don't talk about."
The suggestive tease in Cylie's voice flipped Emile's stomach. He'd tried not to think about it, but... "I... Can't say it's never crossed mmm—my mind." Cylus' fingers curled and stroked, combing through soft slickness and teasing his entrance. "But it seems... Rude, to f-fantasize..."
"My, my, Emile." Cylus nestled closer, fingers dipping inside as he rocked his hips against Emile’s ass. "Fantasizing? I didn’t say anything about that. Where’s your mind going?"
"I just!" Emile exclaimed, bending sharply over the rail, head nearing but not touching the protective field. His generous ass squashed against Cylie's pelvis in a way that made him long for a strap. "I watch too much weird porn and I can't stop wondering—!"
Cylie snuggled closer, cupping his hand tighter and luxuriating in plush wetness. "Wondering about what?"
"Different sorts of dicks," Emile confessed, adorably woeful. "And pussies! And whatever? What if they decided to experiment? I would!"
Cylie buried his face in Emile's shoulder. Laughter freed itself from his chest, uncontrollable as a leaping flame; just like it had earlier, when Emile asked for a knife demonstration instead of sex. It fed the dangerous warmth growing inside him. "Of course. What would you want?"
"Everything!" Emile declared, then sighed happily as Cylie's fingers began to move again. "If I could just swap, or add, just, try out all the different ways creatures copulate... wouldn't that be fascinating?"
"You're fascinating." Cylus nuzzled Emile's hair, breath warm against his scalp. Cylie’s upper hand found the silk scarf he’d draped around Emile’s neck again earlier, gathering it just tight enough to spark a full-body shudder: his breathing unimpeded but his imagination running wild. “But I keep distracting you, don’t I? Now I want to see you drop again. Let all those thoughts I just asked you to think go.”
As those words melted into his body, Cylus found his clit once more. “Don’t worry about what your body does.” Cylie’s touch adapted to Emile's reactions, and Emile recognized Cylie calibrating, adjusting, pursuing his pleasure as surely as Emile might tune a machine. “Just let your mind go still.”
Breathe. Feel. Remember.
Time stretched around them, Cylie’s words echoing inside his mind. The world contracted to where Cylus' body touched his. Alternating between mean pinches that made him moan and small, precise strokes that coiled into a building pressure in his core, Cylie worked him higher and higher.
His mind grew soft. He rocked mindlessly into Cylie’s touch, flushed and shaking as Cylie teased and stroked his throat with silk-covered fingers.
He keened, voice ringing up and down around them—
And then, at exactly the wrong time, the elevator slowed.
Gradual deceleration became an unignorable force. For a last moment, lightness returned; and then the full, false weight of Terran gravity settled onto them both.
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