splitmemory | riddle/cater shenanigans

"We do....????" Riddle stammers out, confused, before realizing he really really shouldn't question why they have any in the dorm at all. They were a bunch of horny boys in one damned building, could he really not expect some of them to do-- that?

Shifting, Riddle pushes himself to sit up some, pushing the jacket to the side, setting it beside him on the bed. This, coupled with the blanket falling down to only rest over his lap, shows off the way he had his shirt unbuttoned, lying open.

Swallowing heavily, he finally forces himself to meet Cater's eyes.

"Yes. Please. Only if you want to as well--..." Why would he suggest it if he didn't?? Still, it's good to check.

Riddle had even said please! O.M.G.

This would be Cater's cue to go get the lube he keeps in his bedroom. It would, but when Riddle looks like that, looks at him like that, says those words, how can he bring himself to turn around and walk away from him? No, he can't. Not this second. Not yet.

Staring hard at Riddle for an impossibly long set of seconds, Cater swallows a lump in his throat before impulsively reaching out to cup the younger teen's face. He only hesitates for the briefest of instances before he leans in and brings their lips together.

Hopefully, that was answer enough to his own wants.

Oh-- Oh. Riddle's heart pounds as his face was cupped in Cater's hold, his breath catching in his throat.

What- was he-
Oh.

Riddle Rosehearts, who was always so sure about what he was doing, who was always so confident in every single task he took to, or at the very least pretended to be... was at such a loss of what to do, what to feel, when their lips are pressed together.

Even so, his eyes slip shut, his hand grabs at Cater's shirt, trying to tug him closer as he kisses him back.

Cater had already been pretty confident in the idea that Riddle was completely inexperienced--it just made sense, with how little free time he gave himself combined with how seriously he took his studies. In that kind of schedule, with all his responsibilities, there was no room for distraction. This was definitely a distraction, and Cater can feel just how new this is for Riddle in the way he kisses back, the tentative and yet needy touches.

It sends a thrill through him for more reasons than he can currently stop to focus on. Instead, he loses himself in the feeling of those soft lips, the small grasping hands. Riddle is so warm, he's burning up, and it should make him stop and reconsider the timing of it all but it just makes him want to crawl into that bed even more. Without thinking, he lets Riddle pull him closer. Cater's knee slides onto the mattress as he leans in, one hand migrating down to the other boy's bared waist while the other finds leverage on the mattress, pushing them both back onto it.

Maybe some distractions weren't so bad. That train of thought is a slippery slope, one he couldn't afford to let infect his mind. Despite every ounce of logic he had, telling him to be careful, to avoid getting so distracted he slipped up, this little distraction in the form of his own red camellia that was pressing so close, urging him back down onto the mattress.

For this moment, Riddle would let his emotions take over, to focus on how each thing they did felt and made him feel.

Breathing out a tiny noise against Cater's lips, Riddle allows himself to be pushed back, to allow Cater to climb over him, to join him on the mattress. His arms move to loop around Cater's neck to keep him close, one hand beginning to tangle in his hair as Riddle tilts his chin up, deepening the kiss on instinct. It's messy, unfocused, and oh so damn intimate for something so new to him.

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.

riddle/cater shenanigans

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