splitmemory | riddle/cater shenanigans

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."

Riddle sniffles softly, both from his cold and the crying, as Cater pulls them apart to check in on him. Panting heavily, Riddle stares up at him with those big, tear filled eyes, clearly exhausted. The tears start to dry up, the small kisses across his face drawing out a laugh from him. "It... really was." Riddle murmurs in response, a soft smile finally working its way across his face.

With a nod, he shifts, squirming to wrap his arms more comfortably around Cater. Not to hold him close out of desperation, out of need, but to keep his warmth close.

"... I'm going to have to clean my sheets tomorrow...." Riddle mutters out, his eyes slipping shut again.

riddle/cater shenanigans

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject