splitmemory | floriddle shenanigans

I-- I will take it off when I feel like taking it off!

[ Riddle puffs out. His emotions are running high alongside his hormones, sorry Floyd. If he's meant to calm down, he certainly won't with just a moment's time. He's hard, too warm from his damn Heat (that he now realizes is happening in full force), frustrated that he can't have his desires sated right now without stripping down, and most of all?

Most of all, he's mad that he wants Floyd Leech so so so very badly. That he wants to be claimed by him, to be used and his and-- ]

Then what do you call that look?! [ Honestly, not surprising they'd get to this point and then Riddle would fuss. It's just who he is. He moves his leg, shoving his foot at Floyd's thigh, ] You're looking at me in this way and I cannot -- WILL not -- stand for it. I can't take it. It makes me feel... weird.

[ Yeah, he's pouting. What of it. ] ... I'll forgive you if you help me get my pants off. It hurts.

I was only looking a little!

[Whatever that means.

Floyd isn’t exactly well-versed in calming people down, let alone Riddle Rosehearts. If anything, he feels compelled to keep poking and prodding just to see how far he can go without being burned to a crisp. Tempting as that sounds, Floyd would rather not spoil the moment right now. What can he say? It hurts for him too.]

Ngh… C’mere.

[he grumbles before fiddling with the button and zipper to Riddle’s fly. His fingers pause, however, just before he hooks them into the waistband.

They’re really doing this, aren’t they? He’s about to see more, so much more of Riddle’s body than ever before. It’s… almost overwhelming. Nevertheless, he tugs, helping slip one leg out after the other. All things considered, he’s surprisingly delicate. For now.]

[ It's. Yeah, it's really overwhelming, to have hands there there. Fingers pushing and pressing, maneuvering the fabric of the pants to get the fly undone. The pause isn't unnoticed. It is, however, not commented on, as Riddle's eyes watch Floyd's hands oh so closely.

This is embarrassing. He hates it; being exposed, even with just his pants off so far. It's scandalous in a way, too, isn't it? Should they really be doing this on school grounds? Should they be doing this at all?

Instead of focusing on those thoughts, Riddle shifts to sit himself up, enough that he can finally fully get the vest and jacket off and out of the way. His tie and button up were next, but--

He said he'd forgive Floyd, didn't he? He should remove that collar. Instead? He finds himself staring, shuffling closer, reaching out to grab at Floyd's pants too... without really looking where his hands are trying to go. ]

Being collared is a good look on you.

[ The words slip out before he can think. ]

Edited 2024-12-06 21:55 (UTC)

[… Floyd can’t help it. He gawks, shameless and on the verge of drooling from such a display. He wants to bite his own hand in disbelief. This sort of thing doesn’t just… happen. Maybe between merfolk and other merfolk, yes, but… a human? The human he’s had his eyes on since that day in the mirror chamber. He isn’t so much shocked as he is amazed, feeling as if he might take off flying at any moment.

And then he says it.

Being collared is a good look on you.

His hands reach out, one grabbing Riddle’s waist while the other yanks his underwear to one side, exposing what he can only guess is a hot, sloppy mess to his awaiting fingers.]

You’re rilin’ me up, y’know.

[ Riddle's small fingers press, delicately grasping at the merman's fly, his fingers fumbling with it. It's much harder to take someone else's pants off, he's realizing. He also--

Can't think any further, when Floyd grabs him like that.

There's a gasp, a whimper as cold air hits that exposed, slick mess that'd previously been hidden by his underwear. ]

Good. I wouldn't want you to lose steam when I need you.

[ Embarrassing words continue to leave his lips. He shifts further, finally getting the button and the fly undone. He sits up slightly further on his knees, legs partway spread to accommodate for his hand. One of his own hands moves up to grab onto Floyd's shoulder, to keep himself steady. ]

... No one else will do.

[He immediately presses two fingers between Riddle’s cheeks, slicking them up and groping to keep him well spread. … He’s heard how “out of sorts” omegas can be when in full heat, enjoyed the sights and sounds of them on a naughty Magicam post or two, but… nothing compares to firsthand experience, does it?

His cock aches, full and heavy as it strains mere inches from Riddle’s touch. Sometimes he wears underwear. Sometimes. Today is not one of those times. Ultimately, to a merman, bare flesh will always feel the best.

It springs free, twitching and dribbling at the tip from Riddle’s babbling alone. Does he even know what he’s saying? Floyd doesn’t imagine he would, not when he’s this out of sorts.

Dragging his tongue along his teeth, Floyd grins and cups Riddle’s face without second thought.]

Ride me~

[ Ugh, his body felt so warm, heat seeming to travel through him with every touch of Floyd's fingers against his skin. Riddle's hips move almost on their own, grinding down against his fingers.

His own eyes peer down at Floyd's cock. Maybe under normal circumstances he'd worry, think that maybe it'd be too much for him, but... right now? Right now he can't think of any concerns, any worries he might have. All he knows is he wants him, wants to feel how deep he can press inside of him, to have that pre dribble directly inside him instead of coating his tip.

It's when Floyd cups his cheeks, gives him that little demand, that Riddle listens. He nods, moving himself slowly. Carefully, to move to straddle Floyd's hips. One of his hands wraps lightly around Floyd, to help himself get positioned, with the assistance of Floyd already keeping him spread and ready.

Under any other circumstances, he might've thought about getting the rest of his clothes off. To remove his underwear at least, to strip fully down from the waist down. He might've even remembered to remove that collar from around Floyd's neck.

Instead, he's grinding himself down against Floyd's tip, panting softly with an unfocused need. ]

You-- you won't leave until I'm satisfied, yes? Promise me.

[This is agony. Floyd’s never felt so stimulated in his entire life. The intoxicating cocktail of pheromones is sending him into a frenzy, like a shark to a single drop of blood. He’s certain Riddle could ask anything of him right now and he’d gladly oblige.]

H-haha~

[he laughs, dizzy as he grips Riddle’s hips and helps ease his body down onto his throbbing tip. He’s huge, he’s been told, by horrified teammates in the gym locker room. He wonders if humans like that… if Riddle likes that… As delirious as Floyd is, he too forgets all about the collar and leans back, legs spread to accommodate Riddle on his way down.]

You fucking bet I promise~

[Because what is a promise but a verbal contract?]

Edited 2024-12-07 00:01 (UTC)

[ There's a lot of length to cover, so much to take in. Their scents mingling together, alongside the smell of... well, he supposes it's the smell of sex.

There's another whimper that bubbles up as his body is slowly eased down, his eyes fluttering closed at the feeling. It's so hard not to lose himself then and there. His opposite's dick is basically a natural aphrodisiac, easily coated in Riddle's own fluids as he pressed further down.

Both hands finally make it up to Floyd's shoulders, fingers curling against him. He can't take the slow pace, even if he knows he should pace himself.

So. His body tenses in response, sure, but he's shoving himself all the way down, a choked moan escaping the housewarden as he hilts Floyd inside of him. He doesn't stop there-- oh, no. There's too much that he wants.

Pulling himself up partway, he starts to try and find a pace that he can manage, but fuck he's already shaking, a patch of wetness forming at the front of his underwear as his dick leaks with pre. ]

Haa... [ Can Floyd see how delirious he is? How set he is on having as much as he wants? ] ... why... do I always deal with this alone? This feels so, so much better.

[Curiously, perhaps selfishly too, Floyd wonders if Riddle’s done this with anyone else. At school, at home, right under his mama’s nose… Riddle’s surprised him before, after all. Or, for all Floyd knows (and secretly hopes), he’s Riddle’s first.

But he forgets to ask. He forgets to see, speak, breathe, because soon he’s enrobed in the most luxurious, mind numbing heat he’s ever known. Far better than his own hand, leagues better than some dumb toy.

With Riddle settled down to the hilt, Floyd thinks he can catch his breath long enough to think straight, but, oh, how wrong he is. Of course, Riddle infamously works on his own terms. His own rules, his own sentencing, come before the verdict. In other words: maybe Riddle knows how to get what he wants just as much as Azul. A greedy little goldfish… Floyd can’t wait to devour him.]

Right~?

[he coos, drawing Riddle close. He feels himself leaking—hot and sticky inside the smaller boy’s hole.]

You should’ve called me sooner~ I would’ve taken good care of you.

[For emphasis, Floyd thrusts his hips upward and bottoms out, gyrating to keep himself sheathed for a few seconds longer.]

Edited 2024-12-07 00:53 (UTC)

[ The answer to that question wouldn't surprise anyone. This was the first time he'd let anyone so much as touch him, kiss him, to be inside of him. No, even those he trusted so dearly hadn't seen him like this.

It wouldn't have been right. Not when they weren't the person he wanted.

Riddle gasps again as he's pulled in closer, his legs spreading slightly more to allow for the closeness. He's got the muscles for this. It shouldn't be hard for him in theory, to ride Floyd to his heart's content. What makes it so much harder was the movements of the other boy, the way their hips press together.

It's driving him insane. ]

I-- [ Riddle's words are cut off by another moan at the way Floyd thrusts up into him, his hands clutching hard onto his shoulders in response. ] Wouldn't. Asking for that, I can't--

[ The words are stammered out, his mind struggling to keep up with the movements of their bodies, of his own quick, harsh movements to get everything he wants. He does, however, manage to finally meet Floyd's gaze again, brows furrowed in thought. What thoughts is a wonder, all things considered. ]

...You would have, really?

[ To be taken care of, to be given all he wants; isn't that what he wants? What he yearns for? Through labored breaths, he makes another demand, one that was far less reasonable than the last. ]

Don't make me ask you to do so. Prove it. How well you would've taken care of me. Make me reach climax again and again and again until all I can think about is you. I don't want to just imagine it anymore.

[ ... Nope, he didn't mean to say that part aloud. He clamps his hand over his mouth, hoping Floyd somehow missed it. He's kind of quiet anyways-- ]

Edited 2024-12-07 01:29 (UTC)

[As Riddle’s nails pinch into his shoulders, Floyd wishes he had bare skin for him to ruin instead. So, while it ruins their rhythm, it should only last a moment, Floyd gripping Riddle’s waist so hard he hopes he sits still. Just long enough to shrug out of his vest, just long enough to tug off his sleeves—

Thankfully, Riddle’s muttering seems to allow Floyd just enough time to undress. Smooth, lean, hard muscle— It’s easy to forget Floyd is a natural born athlete.

And perhaps too hotblooded for his own good.]

Poor Goldfishie… Sounds like you’ve got a serious problem~

[he purrs, as slippery as an eel as he gently takes Riddle’s hand and tries to pry it away toward his own lips instead. He wants to bite at the cuff of his shirt, nibble at the pale skin of the little rose’s wrist… If he can’t bite his neck, he’ll have to settle for somewhere else. Whether or not Floyd’s successful in tugging Riddle’s hand away from his mouth, he does eventually roll his hips upward to provide some ounce of relief… and more reasons to hopefully hear Riddle cry out loud.]

I could get used to that dirty mouth of yours~

[ Riddle's not so strong that he could keep from stilling for even a moment. The hard grip on his waist makes him stop moving, to pause, his breath catching. His body felt so full with Floyd so deep inside of him. Being made to sit still for even a moment made that so obvious to him, so overwhelming of a feeling even without moving at all.

He's not going to complain about the other taking time to undress, though. His one hand now presses against his bare shoulder, shaky fingers pressing in directly against him, nails poised to dig in.

Floyd would find that it's not a difficult task to pull his hand away from his mouth, to draw it over to his own. Riddle doesn't exactly try to stop him or keep his hand pressed over his mouth....

Which is a good thing, because it means the moment Floyd rolls his hips, there's nothing to muffle the downright whorish moan that slips out, the little cry, and the whine that follows. ]

You better not. [ His hand is juuuust close enough to Floyd's face that he can push at his cheek, to squirm in protest at those words. ] My mouth is not dirty -- all it is are the thoughts that come with this damned Heat. They... don't mean anything.

[ But they do. They do, because how else would they be so easily spilling from his lips? ]

[With Riddle’s hand finally in his own, Floyd doesn’t hesitate to nibble, teeth scraping across juts of bone and a fluttering pulse. He doesn’t need magic to leave a mark. Instead, Floyd picks a spot on the inside of Riddle’s wrist and chomps down, quick yet hard enough to raise blood to the surface.

The bitter tang of iron to accompany the sweet symphony of Riddle’s cries— He’ll take this over a feast of octopi any day.]

Sooo, that means my promise to satisfy you doesn’t mean anything too, right?

[After lapping up a few pinpricks of blood, Floyd considers dropping Riddle’s hand… only to delicately trace along the length of them from base to tip—a short journey, but soft and intentional nonetheless. If he tries to interweave their fingers, he wonders… Well. The only thing to do is try, he thinks.

So he does.]

So we should stop.

[ The pain of the bite is an afterthought, something that tangles with the pleasure in ways he'd never thought possible. He wanted more, more marks to denote him as Floyd's.

What is instinct and what did he truly want? Did the difference matter, if they were lining up so perfectly?

So easily, he's caught in a place where, if he were to deny himself, then this would end. Just like that. The very idea-- ]

No. That's not what I mean. Your promise still stands true. It means something to me.

[ Floyd's hand is warm in his own. His hand isn't pulled back, instead stared at.

Then, he squeezes Floyd's hand in his own, returning the hold. His other hand comes up, a slight shake to it as he carefully takes Floyd's face in his hand, his thumb caressing his cheek. ]

I want...

[ The words falter on his tongue.
What better way to get them across than to dismiss that collar and pull Floyd into a kiss? Something careful, gentle. Still needy, by virtue of how they were, yet slightly more focused. ]

[… it belatedly hits him, what he’s doing, what he’s touching. Riddle’s hand, so small and warm in his own, burning while pressed to his face, suddenly feels like the entire world. And that’s exciting. Exhilarating. … Overwhelming.

If not for the kisses, he’d probably be stuck overthinking. As if Floyd’s head isn’t muddled enough from this sudden surge of hormones…]

Goldfishie–

[Floyd shudders, his nerves alight from a combination of magical energy and sexual delight. As much as he hates to admit it, that collar does have its benefits… His pupils are blown as he rests his face more firmly in Riddle’s palm. He never wants him to let go. Not now, not ever.]

You gotta say what you want.

[Instinctively, Floyd knows what Riddles wants. Of course he knows. But he still wants to hear it. After pining for him for so long, he needs to hear it.]

[ Floyd isn't the only one overwhelmed. By touch, their hands clasped together, the feel of Floyd's skin under his, the movement of their hands together. The feeling of being so full in his lap, a burning heat that stretches out through his body.

Thinking straight is an impossibility. How is he meant to focus, to keep his own mind from running rampant, when he has everything he could ever want right here in front of him?

Floyd's really going to make him say it? ]

I-- I...

[ It's too much. He squeezes his eyes shut, trying to steady his own breathing, trying to force his mind to stay on task here. To let him say, to let him respond in any tangible way, with his words instead of his body, instead of his actions. ]

I want to be yours.

[ Why else would he have suggested they look at books together, to try and figure out how 'human courting' worked? This wasn't how it was supposed to go, to confess these bubbling feelings that he hadn't even investigated on his own yet. No, he hadn't even been sure this was what he wanted until this very moment, as those feelings finally click into a place of understanding. ]

[He wonders how Riddle will say it, if he can say it at all, because even though inhibitions tend to lower during these Heats, Riddle is a different breed. He’s stubborn, violent, proud… With barely a push, he could collar Floyd again.

Instead, he’s honest, and Floyd’s left spoiled for choice.

How easy it would be, to tease him to anger. To slander him. To ruin him…]

You know how long I’ve been wanting you to say that?

[Floyd coos as he trails his lips along Riddle’s palm and soon buries his face back into his neck. His hands are firm, large enough to settle upon the smaller boy’s waist and gently rock him forward and back upon his lap. It won’t last long, however, because soon Floyd eases Riddle down onto his back, where he’ll be cradled in the comfort of his own blankets. There. Might be a little easier on his body if Floyd keeps the pace for a while.

Rolling his hips in slow, deep thrusts, he drags his tongue over Riddle’s heartbeat.

Ngh… You’ll be mine if I’ll be yours. Deal~?

[ What will Floyd's response be? Rejection, denial? Some sort of declaration of how foolish he was to trust Floyd for long enough to even get to that point?

The wait isn't long. It feels like an eternity, sure, but it really isn't longer than a few seconds. A minute at most.

Instead of any type of rejection, he gets a type of acceptance, one that he wants to reply to, one that he wants to say anything in response to.

Any words are quickly wiped away as Floyd grabs him, rocks him, reminds him of their literal connection. Ugh, and his face, buried there against his neck. Riddle felt overwhelmed all over again, whimpering with a not-so-quiet need, a drive that pushes him forward.

His body is compliant, easy to move not only with Floyd's differing strength in comparison to his own, but by virtue of his Heat. Both of his hands fall against the bed near his head, only for one to lift back up, tangling back in Floyd's hair as he tilts his head to make room. Those slow, deep thrusts paired with Floyd pressing down so firmly against him -- his breathing is labored, unfocused. ]

Haa...? Mnn, Floyd, do you have to ask?

[ Riddle complains, his hand falling down from Floyd's hair to his back, to one of his shoulder blades, his nails digging in. He lowers his voice, as if to keep this a secret between them. ]

You were always going to be mine.

[He likes how flustered he is, how he doesn’t seem to know where to put his hands or how to move his tongue. Riddle’s usually so well put together, after all. Seeing him riled up, especially at Floyd’s hand— Nothing compares to that thrill.

Or so he thought.

Because he’s fairly certain he’s never felt as weightless as he does with Riddle’s next words—a precious secret he doesn’t know how to handle. Always? How can he be so sure? Pushing teal bangs away from his face, Floyd decides to ask… staring down at Riddle while still bucking his hips.]

You knew? Ah… Since when?

[ It was a thought, looming in the back of his head. One that he avoided, one that kept rearing it's head every time he spent a little too long around Floyd at the wrong time of the month. One that was so terrifying that, even now, his hand shakes as he clutches onto Floyd, bringing his other hand up to cover part of his face.

How is he supposed to focus enough to answer? To keep his emotions stable when everything felt so in flux? ]

It was-- a stupid dream. Something I couldn't... reach for. [ And even this second, it's so scary, isn't it? ] You've driven me... insane from the first day we met.

[ He turns his head completely to one side, to look away, his shoulders tensing, almost as he's if ashamed by the admission. After all; he's the one who kept them apart, isn't he? And now they only had, what, a year and a half until they go off to their Internships and graduate?

It's difficult to keep his mouth shut, huh? Damn those hormones, running through him at such a rate that he can barely keep up. Not to mention the feeling of Floyd inside him, the sounds and smells and--

He can't take it. ]

[From the moment they… met? That long ago?

Normally, Floyd isn’t one to dwell on the past. What’s done is done and there’s no sense trying to change it. Yet when he thinks about that day and every day in between… sure—it hurts a little, knowing he could have had Riddle all this time.

Floyd pitches his hips, sharp and quick with a clatter of metal against pale thighs. Fuck, he’s so tight, so wet… Floyd compromises by sinking his teeth into Riddle’s neck at last, groaning and shuddering with the unique taste of berries and iron…]

What… dream?

[he gasps, taking Riddle’s hand into his own and trying to yank it away from his face.]

You mean— Mn- The ceremony?

[ It hurts-- yeah, it hurts in his chest, deep where his heart rests, where he'd buried these emotions down and tried to get rid of them. There wasn't room for feelings like these, for frivolent little acts of teenage passion.

If that's all it was, it wouldn't sting this much, would it?

Riddle cries out at the bite, from a mix of pain and pleasure, his back arching hard. He's practically dripping with pre from his dick as he's thrust into, as he's overtaken by emotion, pain, pleasure.

His hand isn't hard to yank from his face, though it makes it oh so clear the little tears he was trying so desperately to hold back. ]

The idea that we could actually... be together. That felt like a stupid dream that couldn't-- couldn't happen.

[ Riddle huffs, trying desperately to steady his own breathing. ]

You're a distraction. One that was too tempting to get involved wi--... mhh, Floyd...!

[ His words are easily cut off by another cry, his body trembling as he stares up at Floyd with those big wet eyes, with a little apology he probably will never speak. ]

[How many times has he heard that one? He’s a distraction, an annoyance, a bad influence. No doubt Mrs. Rosehearts will want nothing more than to tear his guts apart. But if he’s a distraction, so what? He’s not about to change or apologize for it. Certainly not when it has Riddle crying out his name.]

Doesn’t matter.

[Sweat dripping from his brow, Floyd plants his hands on either side of Riddle’s head and fucks into him so quickly it rattles the headboard against the wall. The tight coil in his stomach begins to fray, ready to spring loose and release at any given second.]

‘cuz we’ll—haah—be together now… H-haha… No way…

[he gasps, dropping his forehead to Riddle’s own.]

Maybe this is a dream~

[ If Riddle thought it was too much, that he couldn't handle it before, it just gets to a whole other level of overwhelming, of too much. The pace picked up again, much like the pace he'd had when riding him so haphazardly, and yet... faster. Harder.

He can't speak anymore, not when it's like this. Both of his arms wrap around Floyd, nails digging in hard against his back, clawing into him as if to keep himself grounded among his own noises and cries.

... He'd be lucky if the rest of the dorm didn't know what happened behind his door today. And if they knew? They'd best keep their damn mouths shut about it.

Riddle wants to respond, wants to tell him that if this is a dream, then don't wake him up-- but he can't. He can barely even think enough to hold himself together. Not when he's seeing stars, when his body is tensing, his hands clutching onto Floyd so tightly.

It's not subtle, even if he still had his underwear on, the way he reaches his climax. A wet, sticky patch forms at the front of him, surely making worse of a mess of him. He'll feel gross later, once he's come down from this high, with the sweat making his shirt stick to him, the cum in his underwear against his body.

For now, he clings hard to Floyd, trembling under it all. ]

floriddle shenanigans

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