[No need to ask him twice. Akira loosens his grip only to slide his hand down to settle on Kurapika's nape, pulling him down to meet him in a kiss. It's a little off the mark, the clumsiness more drunken ineptitude than nerves or inexperience, but the second time's the charm.
It's easy falling into a steady rhythm, slotting their lips together like puzzle pieces again and again, the fit always perfect... but is it wrong to want more? To want as much of Kurapika as he can wrap his lips around?
Akira's arms slide down the expanse of Kurapika's back and settle at the small of it, urging him down, urging their bodies to lie flush against one another's. Maybe Kurapika feels better caging Akira beneath him, maybe he feels he can hold onto some semblance of self-control that way, but there's no point. In the end, they'll be giving into each other anyway. In the end, they'll be stripping each other down to nothing but their raw, honest selves, every vulnerability on full display. Just as it should be.]
[ How many times has he kissed Akira by now? Kurapika has honestly lost count, the feel of Akira's lips familiar against his own by now, warm and fitting perfectly against his.
It's easy to be urged down against him like this, falling against him with no thought to feeling in control. Maybe it's the alcohol, or maybe it's Akira's lips pressed against his that makes settling against him something that doesn't deserve a second thought. While he isn't sure what the best position for this might be or where he should put his limbs, focusing on the warmth radiating through their clothes is enough for those anxieties to feel far away.
And so, he parts his lips against Akira's, urging for their tongues to meet, to see what the alcohol tastes like on his tongue. ]
[It's easy to retreat into the warmth of Kurapika's mouth, tongues on less familiar terms than their lips, but not by much. Kurapika tastes of wine, of heat and want, his breath hot against his cheeks and his heart hammering just across the way from his own.
A warm rumble emanates from Akira's chest, snakes its way across their tongues, but their kiss is too messy, too important, to break away and speak. I want you, he would've said. I need you. I won't let you go.
Kurapika admitted that he'd like to touch him, didn't he? But he doesn't know how, or where, or when, Akira's sure. He needs guidance, and the best way to learn is through experience. He can easily imagine Kurapika's anxious goading — show me — and so he will.
His fingers stretch broadly and roam the expanse of Kurapika's back, sliding up the back of his shirt so that he might drag his nails down his back, all the way down, and cup his ass in both hands. Been keeping up on your squats, Kurapika?]
[ Experience is the best way to learn, and Kurapika knows this to be true, even if he's the sort of person that really prefers to plan. There are no books or research papers on this, however, or at least nothing that would properly capture the way his heart beats almost unsteadily in his chest and Akira's breath warm against his face anytime they part more than a few centimeters. He's more confident in the way their tongues slide together now than he was the first time, almost bold the moment he feels like he's gained the slightest amount of experience.
The touch to his back already has him pressing closer, suppressing a shiver at the merest touch.
It really shouldn't be a surprise, then, that he gasps when he feels Akira's hands on his ass. Not even alcohol can fully remove the prudishness from him, after all. But at least there's something there for Akira to grab at all, the sheer amount of work he does with his legs incredibly obvious now, if it wasn't obvious with the way he fights before.
A hand grasps at Akira's shirt for purchase and for lack of any real idea of what he should be doing. This is new territory, after all. ]
[That gasp earns a self-satisfied snort. That's right, get shocked. Removing the prude from Kurapika won't take much more than inundating him with touch and sensation, all the stimulation he's denied himself thus far, but Akira's going to have fun with him while this is all so novel and mortifying.
What monster will Kurapika become when he's soaked up everything Akira has to teach him and put his own spin on it? That thought excites Akira too, prompts shivers and little eager laughs that melt on the tongue.
Akira takes his time feeling up the hard muscle hidden beneath Kurapika's pants. Tight glutes, tighter quads, all on a deceptively svelte frame. Akira would both love and hate to be on the business end of Kurapika's kicks.
In the midst of his groping, he makes time to help Kurapika out, taking one of those awkwardly lingering hands and guiding it to his head. Here. Play with his hair. It's one of those universally enjoyable feelings, right?]
[ Ah, thank god for the guidance. Any sense of embarrassment he might feel over it is overshadowed by the relief he feels simply tangling his fingers in Akira's hair. The way his fingers flex around his curls feels almost meant to be, as if his hand belongs right here, and he isn't afraid of the feeling as he runs his fingers through it.
He puts a gentle pause on their kiss, lips slick with saliva as he presses a chaste kiss to the corner of Akira's mouth. ]
What's so funny?
[ His words are soft and breathy, his breathing already slightly irregular. This doesn't amount to much in the scheme of things, but when you've starved yourself of this sort of thing for long enough, even a grain of sand can feel plenty heavy.
Kurapika is aware that Akira's laughter comes from some sort of giddiness, but can he really be blamed for wanting to hear it vocalized? ]
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no subject
It's easy falling into a steady rhythm, slotting their lips together like puzzle pieces again and again, the fit always perfect... but is it wrong to want more? To want as much of Kurapika as he can wrap his lips around?
Akira's arms slide down the expanse of Kurapika's back and settle at the small of it, urging him down, urging their bodies to lie flush against one another's. Maybe Kurapika feels better caging Akira beneath him, maybe he feels he can hold onto some semblance of self-control that way, but there's no point. In the end, they'll be giving into each other anyway. In the end, they'll be stripping each other down to nothing but their raw, honest selves, every vulnerability on full display. Just as it should be.]
no subject
It's easy to be urged down against him like this, falling against him with no thought to feeling in control. Maybe it's the alcohol, or maybe it's Akira's lips pressed against his that makes settling against him something that doesn't deserve a second thought. While he isn't sure what the best position for this might be or where he should put his limbs, focusing on the warmth radiating through their clothes is enough for those anxieties to feel far away.
And so, he parts his lips against Akira's, urging for their tongues to meet, to see what the alcohol tastes like on his tongue. ]
no subject
A warm rumble emanates from Akira's chest, snakes its way across their tongues, but their kiss is too messy, too important, to break away and speak. I want you, he would've said. I need you. I won't let you go.
Kurapika admitted that he'd like to touch him, didn't he? But he doesn't know how, or where, or when, Akira's sure. He needs guidance, and the best way to learn is through experience. He can easily imagine Kurapika's anxious goading — show me — and so he will.
His fingers stretch broadly and roam the expanse of Kurapika's back, sliding up the back of his shirt so that he might drag his nails down his back, all the way down, and cup his ass in both hands. Been keeping up on your squats, Kurapika?]
no subject
The touch to his back already has him pressing closer, suppressing a shiver at the merest touch.
It really shouldn't be a surprise, then, that he gasps when he feels Akira's hands on his ass. Not even alcohol can fully remove the prudishness from him, after all. But at least there's something there for Akira to grab at all, the sheer amount of work he does with his legs incredibly obvious now, if it wasn't obvious with the way he fights before.
A hand grasps at Akira's shirt for purchase and for lack of any real idea of what he should be doing. This is new territory, after all. ]
no subject
What monster will Kurapika become when he's soaked up everything Akira has to teach him and put his own spin on it? That thought excites Akira too, prompts shivers and little eager laughs that melt on the tongue.
Akira takes his time feeling up the hard muscle hidden beneath Kurapika's pants. Tight glutes, tighter quads, all on a deceptively svelte frame. Akira would both love and hate to be on the business end of Kurapika's kicks.
In the midst of his groping, he makes time to help Kurapika out, taking one of those awkwardly lingering hands and guiding it to his head. Here. Play with his hair. It's one of those universally enjoyable feelings, right?]
no subject
He puts a gentle pause on their kiss, lips slick with saliva as he presses a chaste kiss to the corner of Akira's mouth. ]
What's so funny?
[ His words are soft and breathy, his breathing already slightly irregular. This doesn't amount to much in the scheme of things, but when you've starved yourself of this sort of thing for long enough, even a grain of sand can feel plenty heavy.
Kurapika is aware that Akira's laughter comes from some sort of giddiness, but can he really be blamed for wanting to hear it vocalized? ]
no subject