splitmemory | riddle/cater shenanigans

This whole thing is disorganized, impulsive--the exact opposite of Riddle. Maybe that's part of what makes it so perfect. To see Riddle with no inhibitions, acting on instinct...it's something Cater will never forget. He sighs into Riddle's mouth, lips parting in welcome as the other boy adds more heat to the kiss. Although he's the one with the experience to lead them through this, he still follows Riddle's body language, never wanting his housewarden and friend to feel like he has no control over the situation. As far as he can help it, Cater won't let anything reach a point that Riddle isn't comfortable with--but for now, it seemed as if that wasn't much of a worry.

The hand that he used to lower them down trails down, pulling the blanket farther off and away from them so he can properly fit their bodies together. His fingers slide against the soft skin of Riddle's thigh, pulling the leg wider and up against his side. He pulls Riddle close, tantalized by the way those fingers felt against his hair.

Riddle finds that he's practically melting under Cater, his mind fogged both with the illness and with his own desire for the man atop him. As Cater's lips part, it's only a second before Riddle's tongue darts out, slipping into his mouth and attempting to tangle with his. Something that Cater could count on with Riddle was a vocal protest if anything got to a point where he was uncomfortable or didn't like it. The Queen was never quiet about his own thoughts, his own opinions.

Those careful fingers against the skin of his thigh... Riddle seems to lean into the touch, even as his leg was guided to allow Cater to spread his legs, to get between them, to pull him close. Those small fingers stay tangled in his hair, his other hand moving down to the bottom hem of Cater's shirt, pushing up under it to allow his hand to wander up along his skin, bringing the shirt up with it.

Seems he has little shame in getting handy himself, at least for right now.

Cater's skin is warm, but Riddle's fingers still feel even warmer against his skin. It only makes him want to kiss the other boy even more, sliding their tongues together when Riddle offers his, eager to get a taste. It's incredible just how ready Riddle seems to be to move forward with this when they'd never so much as indicated attraction to one another before this--perhaps it was just in Riddle's personality to put his all into everything he did and this was no exception. Either way, Cater isn't complaining. Each little movement that the slim body makes against his just serves to excite him further.

Although he's reluctant to do so, Cater finally breaks the kiss so he can help rid himself of his shirt. He grabs it hurriedly by the back of his neck, pulling it up and over his head--though the action jostles the flower still stuck in his hair, and he pauses with sudden clarity to carefully untangle the fragile plant and set it on Riddle's nightstand. From that vantage point, he can look down and truly see all of Riddle, splayed out like he's ready to be devoured.

There was no way that Cater was going to leave this bed to get his lube, at this point. He pulls his magical pen from his pants pocket and murmurs a spell. It's one of the more advanced ones he'd been learning as a third year--he hadn't quite mastered it, but he'd never really tried. This time, he puts his full focus into the spell, and at once the bottle of lube appears in his hands, transported from where he'd left it in his own bedroom.

With it working so flawlessly, Cater can't help but let out a small laugh. Looks like there was a point in studying, after all.

Unfortunately for Riddle, Cater getting his shirt off meant he had to pull his hair back from the back of the older teen's head, his hands both moving down to press against him, tracing up his waist. The warm skin under his own warm touch - he wanted to lean up, to press careful kisses against his skin. To mark him up with a small bit of suction, to bite him, to scratch him. Riddle wanted to hear any and all noises he could drag out of Cater. His mind was running wild with all the possibilities.

More than that.... The careful way Cater untangles the flower from his hair, preserving it carefully on the bedside table for later. Why did that of all things fluster Riddle further? It wasn't anything intimate, wasn't like the way that Cater was looking down at him. All it was was that small piece of their day, proof of that conversation they'd had.

As focused in on the moment as he is, Riddle watches the spell as it's cast. A soft smile forms on his face. He recognized it. One of the spells that Trey had been working on mastering recently. Must be a third year one, then. Something that Cater actually learned. As his Housewarden - and as his friend - he was proud.

Instead of commenting on it, Riddle shifts, squirming under Cater. Both of his hands trail up, grabbing his shoulders.

"... Cater...?"

Cater smiles down at Riddle, feeling flushed and excited. He's glad for those dainty hands back on him, again--he missed them, in that brief moment of separation. Sitting on his knees, he reaches out with his free hand to touch Riddle's cheek, thumb trailing over his bottom lip, swollen from their kissing.

"Are you ready for more?"

They could always keep kissing, of course. Cater wasn't going to complain about that, either.

"I ... have a question first."

Oh, Seven, that thumb against his bottom lip. Riddle can't help the small huff he breathes out, his eyes half open as his head tilts up slightly against the touch, as if asking for more silently.

"Have you... done this often?" It's an innocent question, clearly curious. He seems to pause, though, realizing how rude or judgemental it might sound. "Not that that's a bad thing--"

"I'm curious. That's all."

Although Cater doesn't necessarily feel any judgment coming from the question, it still makes him pause. He clears his throat, glancing away briefly. "I mean, I don't know if I'd say often..."

Was it better or worse to admit that he didn't really keep track? Yeah, worse. Cater keeps that sentiment to himself.

"Does that change anything?"

He wouldn't blame Riddle for being uncomfortable with it. With feeling unsafe or unsure. Cater didn't plan on doing anything to hurt Riddle in any way, but this could be a hard line for a lot of people.

"I won't be upset if that changes how you look at me."

"It doesn't."

Turning his head away, Riddle focuses his gaze elsewhere, onto that flower he'd plucked for Cater earlier on in the day. He doesn't want to admit why he asked the question, even if it's obvious. Riddle himself is very inexperienced. What if that made Cater look at him differently? Not worth his energy, his effort?

What if it was a bad experience for Cater because of that?

No, that couldn't be the case. Cater wouldn't have climbed into bed with him if it was. Surely he already realized...

Turning his head back to look up at Cater, Riddle shakes his head.

"It doesn't," He repeats, firm, to be sure Cater hears it, "Is it... alright with you that I haven't? I want to. Don't get the wrong idea or make assumptions."

Cater's smile softens as Riddle makes himself clear. He seems to relax a bit, as if he was a bit more worried than he realized at the sudden rejection. "It's more than alright."

He moves the hand at Riddle's face down, back to his leg, stroking it with a gentle touch. After admiring the other boy for a moment, he lowers himself back down again.

"Just kiss me, and I'll take care of everything else."

How could he not feel weak under that touch? Every little shift of their bodies, every little touch against his skin, everything that Cater did made Riddle squirm, made his heart pound in his chest, distracted him from anything aside from the two of them, and this moment.

"... Alright. Then-- then I'm ready. For more." Riddle nods, before leaning up and pressing his lips to Cater's quickly.

This kiss isn't gentle, nor is it anything but impulsive. Riddle's lips are already parted, his head tilting up to deepen the kiss near immediately.

Riddle's kiss isn't unexpected, exactly, but the ferocity in which it's acted upon nearly makes him joke in surprise. He smiles into that kiss before reciprocating fully, not being shy to fully envelop Riddle's mouth in his, tangling their tongues as he falls back down into his earlier position. This time, though, he has a more specific goal in mind. Setting the lube bottle down where he'll be able to easily grab it again without looking, Cater's fingers trail down until they're brushing against Riddle's erection, stroking it with a tender touch before grasping it fully, thumb pressing into the head and drawing small circles.

Images of Riddle fingering himself flash into his mind, but they don't need to rush any further than they already are. It's Riddle's first time, and Cater wants to savor every moment of knowing that these are new sensations he's drawing out.

"Mnn--!" Riddle whimpers against Cater's lips as he feels his fingers grasp at his arousal, stroking him with only his fingers until his hand wraps around him fully, his thumb teasing his head in a way that was all too nice. He can't help the way his hips shift, squirm, the way his tongue twists against Cater's in a more hurried manner. Riddle isn't trying to rush, not at all. It's just... all he knows, to put his all into this, especially when he wanted to feel all he could. His arms return to their earlier position looped around Cater's neck, one hand resting against the back of his neck.

Despite how many noises the teasing draws out, no matter how out of breath he gets with all the noises he's making against Cater's lips, he doesn't break the kiss. He couldn't- it was too nice, something that he wanted so bad, so intensely.

It's going to get harder and harder to keep up such an intense kiss, but for now Cater doesn't make any attempt to break it. Riddle's all but suctioned onto him, and Cater's far from wanting to fight him off. All those sounds he's making are so good, too good, and Cater's only regret is how muffled they currently are. Cater's tempted to drag on that slow fondling longer, but Riddle's egging him on so much that it's hard to stay focused--hard not to get distracted by his own growing erection.

Maybe it's a bit earlier than he was planning on doing this, but screw it. Cater finds and pops open the tube of lube so he can coat his fingers, pressing them against Riddle's tight opening and entering. One finger first, and then a second slowly joining the first, pushing in farther than Riddle's own fingers would've been able to reach.

Riddle's hands press into the skin on the back of Cater's neck, into the skin of his shoulders, anywhere he can reach from where he is. He can feel himself beginning to leak a little pre-cum with all the teasing, a soft whine breathed out against Cater as the other boy's hand pulls back from his erection. The kiss continues until the second Riddle feels those fingers press against his entrance. He needs air, needs to breathe, and most of all, he needs to lay his head back and try to keep his back from arching too hard, too desperately.

Panting heavily, Riddle's head falls back as he feels those fingers enter him. The task of keeping his back from arching was, in fact, one he couldn't succeed in. His back arches, hips pressing down to try and take Cater's fingers as far as he could, his breathing obviously staggered with how his chest was pushed up in that position.

"Cater--" Riddle gasps out. His legs instinctively shift, spreading slightly more, to give Cater more room to work.

With his mouth freed, Cater barely stops for air before his mouth drops to Riddle's slender neck, kissing at the enflamed skin. The arch of the body underneath him pressing up into his own only serves to excite him further. The call of his name is too passionate for Cater to worry that it's a cry to slow down. No, he has to trust that Riddle will make himself clear if he's had enough or if it's too much.

So, he pushes his fingers in deeper, sliding against those inner walls and spreading the warm lubrication. They coil in, seeking out his most sensitive spaces, wanting to hear Riddle say his name like that again. He's never heard his name sound so damn good on another's mouth. Seven, he wanted to hear his housewarden explode with pleasure.

This wasn't something Riddle had ever been so focused on wanting before, aside from the small moments where he caught himself thinking something distracting. Now, this moment, he wanted nothing else but to feel everything Cater had to offer. Anything that he could give him to experience, Riddle wanted it. Like the greedy 'royal' he was, he wasn't going to back down from what he wanted, now that he had it.

Oh, fuck.
A specific spot that Cater curls his fingers against causes him to cry out louder, his body shifting and squirming as if trying to get more of that feeling, to demand more of it.

"Ca-aterr-!" Riddle cries out, feeling that intense heat churn and coil down low, the tell-tale signs of his orgasm approaching faster than he could ever have made happen himself. Without realizing he should probably warn Cater, he reaches that peak, his body spasming in a way that causes his back to arch harsh against Cater's fingers, his nails digging into his back as he makes a mess over his own torso, over his hips, and all over his arousal. The moan he lets out is loud, so loud that it's damn lucky no one else is in the dorm building currently.

Panting, he starts to squirm again. "Don't-- stop. Don't stop. I want you. Please. I want you so badly."

Cater had asked for an explosion and he had gotten one, much bigger than he could have expected. He feels every twitch both inside and out as Riddle writhes against his touch. All through it, the good soldier obliges, keeping pressure on Riddle's prostate as he works through his prostate. The body language is so clear, it's easy to react to it, give the little Queen everything he desires.

But Cater desires him, too. How can he possibly resist such emphatic begging? Those greedy hands pulling him down, Cater withdraws his fingers from inside Riddle, but only so he can pull himself out of his pants. If he was being truly romantic, if they were in a different state of mind, he wouldn't be nearly this hasty--but what his housewarden wants, his housewarden gets.

He adds more lubrication to himself quickly, groaning to touch himself, so aroused and full of need that he's denied himself while servicing the other boy. His pants are still mostly on, but he doesn't have the patience or willpower to fully strip. Instead, he lines himself up with Riddle's prepped opening and presses in. Cater moans sharply to be squeezed so tightly, his head swimming--he wants to push in all the way, without stopping, but he trembles as he keeps himself from going in too fast. Lubrication or not, he doesn't want to hurt Riddle, and his head dips against Riddle's shoulder as he restrains himself.

Cater was too damn good at this. Riddle felt like nothing else mattered in this moment aside from the feelings that Cater was putting him through. Not the consequences of this, not the inevitable awkwardness that might follow, not the warm feeling in his chest suggesting there was something else aside from lust driving them both forward.

Letting his body fall back down against the mattress in full, having a second to collect himself, Riddle's eyes shift down to watch Cater tug his own erection free from his pants. Oh. Oh, he-- was definitely bigger than Riddle had expected. He should've known, given their height difference, that there'd be a difference there too. He's no clue whether Cater's size is average or not. It doesn't matter. He knows what he wants.

"I... won't break." Riddle gasps out, his hand coming up to carefully tangle in some of Cater's hair as the other boy's head falls against his shoulder. "C-- Come on, I can handle all of you. I'm not weak." Riddle's murmurs are fueled completely by desire, by lust, to the point where he's sure he's not thinking with his head. For his first time, he shouldn't be so ready to let Cater release all inhibitions, to push himself all the way in without worrying even a little about him.

Does he care right now? No. That's something for Future Riddle to deal with.

His hold is adjusted, his arms wrapping more in a hug around Cater's shoulders, nails tracing down his spine as far as he could reach in this position.

At those words, Cater rouses from his lusty fog to lock eyes with Riddle. His hands had both found positions to help anchor their bodies together, but now he brings one up to brush Riddle's disheveled hair out of his face. He looks into those big eyes and tells him:

"You're the strongest person I know."

So, no holding back. It's a good thing he's not the kind of person who would slam right into home base--no, Cater pushes in all the way, but though he stops being so restrained, there's still a methodical pulse to the way he moves. He moans, eyes fluttering closed as he wraps his arms around Riddle, burrowing into him. His hands scour down his body, wrapping around his ass as he begins to build up a rhythmic movement between their bodies, pressing in as far as he can reach each time he connects their hips together.

Who gave Cater Diamond the right to be so-- so-- attractive. Amazing. Beautiful, even now, especially now, during this heated moment between them and only them. No one else would know, no one else even mattered right now.

"Saying something like that-- now?" Riddle barely gets through his complaint (as much of a complaint as it CAN be, with how those few words made his heart ache in an unrecognizable way) before Cater pushes all the way in, a gasp escaping the smaller man.

Oh, Seven, he feels like his mind was clouded over completely, blank with nothing other than the focus on those little moans of Cater's, the hold they both have on each other, as if letting go would mean the other vanishes from sight.

Riddle's legs shift, hips move, to allow himself to wrap his legs around Cater's hips, pressing him closer, urging their bodies to let them be pressed even further together.

This was one way to shut them up, it seems. Usually one of them was talking, whether it was Cater's incessant rambling on about something inconsequential or Riddle's own lectures and complaints, or the rare moment where Riddle was gushing about something. Riddle doesn't feel like he has to talk, like he has to say anything. Instead, he lets his hips and the plethora of noises slipping past his lips do the talking, falling into that pace with Cater.

No, there was no longer any need for words. Their bodies were doing the talking for them, moving and pulling against one another with a desperate sort of heat, like they'd been waiting for this chance. Cater tangles himself up completely in Riddle, around Riddle, with Riddle. He finds his mouth again and kisses him with unbridled passion, wanting to taste him again, wanting to breathe in those sounds he was making.

Riddle felt, sounded, tasted incredible, better than anything he ever might have imagined. How could he have ever thought of his housewarden like this? Why hadn't he? It defies all of his expectations, but here they were and there was no way he ever wanted to go back to the reality where they weren't like this.

Between Riddle's fever and the friction of their bodies, it's almost suffocatingly hot, but Cater welcomes the heat. If he burned up in it, it would be worth the pain. More and more, his pace grows needier, like he can't get enough. Cater's legs tremble from the mixture of exertion and desire but he can't imagine stopping as his head swims further. He knows he won't last, not when Riddle is so tight and so hot and all around him like this, but he doesn't want it to end too soon--pushes himself on, desperate for more.

Lips meld together. The way they kiss makes it so hard for Riddle to determine where his own lips ended and where Cater's begin. Nothing stops the smaller boy from kissing back, his own passion mixing with Cater's, entangling them further together as they fall into this drowning sea of need, falling so far down together into a place that could only be described as pure bliss.

Riddle knows he won't last long, so sensitive from already spilling over once. As long as Cater could take it, he wanted to keep this up, even to the point where he couldn't even keep his eyes open anymore. Please, if this moment could last forever -- he'd do anything to keep this feeling from slipping through his fingers.

Even still, he knows he's close, struggling to hold back his cries against Cater's lips as the other teen's pace begins to get needier. Riddle's own hips shift to try and keep up. He can feel himself tightening around Cater, his nails again pressing against his back, clutching onto him as tight as he could. "... 'm..." He struggles to talk against Cater's lips, trying to warn him of how close he was. He didn't want to catch him off guard again, with how close they were now. With the distance between them, or lack thereof, whenever he does spill over again it's bound to coat them both.

... Embarrassing. Riddle's going to die of embarrassment after this.

Riddle's attempt at a warning seems to have the absolute opposite effect. Instead of pulling back or out or slowing down, Cater moans hard in response, his movement reaching a fever pitch. He holds Riddle so tightly, pulling their bodies flush together by the small of his back, and soon he's breathing too hard to properly kiss Riddle at all. Instead, he keeps their faces close, breathing against his skin as he whimpers a hurried, "--cumming!"

And then light flashes behind his eyes as he bursts, digging in as deep as he can go, legs tensing as his feet claw into the sheets. Cater moans over and over, practically wailing as his abdomen continues to rub against where Riddle's erection is sandwiched between them. The heat coming from there, the way that his inner walls grip him, it only intensifies the feeling. It feels like it lasts forever--but not long enough when his body finally loses that tension and he comes crashing down, heavy and breathing ragged.

How could Riddle hold back? As that hot fluid rushes into him, coating his insides, Riddle's own noises reach the same volume as Cater's, his nails digging in roughly at the pressure against his erection, against the feeling inside him. His own orgasm hits for a second time, coating the both of their abdomens in his cum, much to the embarrassment of the housewarden.

It was so much. He could feel hot tears roll down his cheeks, from the sheer intensity of the feelings. A whimper is easily followed by a sob -- he was overwhelmed by it all, by the heat between them, the heat of his fever, the heat of their passion, the heat inside of him. It was all so intense in a way he never thought possible.

His arms hold onto Cater as tightly as he can, as he shifts to bury his face against him.

As his orgasm finishes crashing through them both, Cater's head starts to clear. The first thing he registers is the sound of Riddle crying--whether it was from pleasure or not, he shifts his body so he can see properly, detangling Riddle from where he hid himself just enough to reach up and brush those tears away with his fingers. "That was amazing," he murmurs, and without thinking leans in even closer to brush his lips against those salt-covered cheeks, as well. He wants to kiss it all away, kiss Riddle's eyelids, his face, his lips.

"Rest, now. I'll stay right here."

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crimsontyrant - 2024-04-23 08:58 (UTC) - Expand