splitmemory | floriddle shenanigans

[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. ]

[It comes in waves, the beautiful realization that this is real–that he’s not simply gazing out the window, catching glimpses of red at the stables across the lawn, wishing he could visit instead of drown in more lectures… Riddle’s holding him, clawing him, burning him up from the inside out. It’s the rawest pleasure Floyd’s ever felt.

And evidently, it isn’t half bad for Riddle either. The tension is agonizing—a vice grip around the base of his aching cock, pulsing and squeezing while Riddle wails pretty into his ear and cums in his underwear. He’s filthy. So filthy… He’s pretty… So pretty.

Coiled around Riddle’s tinier frame, Floyd holds on for as long as he can, continuing to fuck him through orgasm until finally his urge proves far too strong. He follows with a sharp thrust, and another and another, pumping Riddle full of thick, warm seed. It spills, but he doesn’t care. Not when his mind is numb and his legs start to tremble–]

N-ngh…

[Floyd soothes himself on Riddle’s skin, tasting salt, iron, roses at the back of his tongue… but finally, gasping for air, he slowly but shakily eases against Riddle’s body, trying to settle the little rose’s tremors. He has to pull himself together here for Riddle’s sake. For his mate’s sake. For their—]

Didn’t pull out…

[Ah.]

[ His body aches with every raw feeling, each new pleasure striking through him and overwhelming him that much further. To think this was real, that he was giving in to such an intense temptation and it felt so, so right... How could this ever be a bad thing? To want this to be real, to make this be real.

His shaking hands clutch onto his only lifeline, not caring for a second if his nails manage to break skin, to press into Floyd so hard that he'd have marks for days. All he can think about is this moment, the feeling of those sharp thrusts, riding out his own orgasm in such a way that he's damn near going to make a further mess of himself.

Another pretty little cry passes from his lips at the feeling of that seed flooding his insides, marking his hole, his walls, his womb, all as Floyd's. His body tenses all over again, soft gasps and whimpers passing through those red lips of his.

And, finally, his grip on Floyd loosens, fingers press down into him more gently, his shaking hands still pressing against his back for a time, to let him come down from those highs of his. In true Riddle fashion, he lets out a soft huff, pulling one hand back from Floyd despite how hard he wants to cling to him, to press it against his own face, half glaring up at Floyd. ]

You're not allowed to pull out. You'll give me all you have.

[ A rule of his own is placed down, almost as harshly as he'd lay down any other rule, even with how his voice shakes. ]

You have to take responsibility. Make me yours, inside and out.

[ Sound fair? Reasonable? Logical? Probably not. He's deep into his heat, though -- there's no logic that would be found here, at this point. Where he's at now... the very idea that Floyd would want to pull out sounds cruel. That he'd want to avoid filling him with his seed, to keep from letting him feel that delectable full feeling...

Is that a pout? A little. He's so similar to Floyd in that way, after all. The way he could flip on a dime and be so stern. ]

[It isn’t the answer he expects… but it’s perfect, dripping sweet and striking hard as only Riddle knows how to deliver. He isn’t allowed to pull out. He’ll give him all he has… Ordinarily, bossing Floyd about is a surefire way to turn him off in every sense. But Riddle’s conviction is ruthless, and Floyd’s heart is on fire. In this moment, he’ll bow to anything if it means keeping his mate satisfied and full.

Though most importantly, his.

There’s no need to question logic or reason. Not when it makes clear sense, right? Lifting his head, Floyd stares down at that sweet little pout before leaning in to nudge Riddle’s temple.]

Then I guess these’ll have to go~

[After grabbing the waistband of Riddle’s underwear, Floyd quite literally tears them off with a satisfying rip, later digging his nails into the newly exposed, petal-soft skin. He palms at his cock, at the mess smeared behind, and when Floyd shifts to his knees he jerks him off nice and slow. There. No need for him to pull out.]

You’re so cute…

[he growls, grabbing hold of Riddle’s thighs so he can pull his body toward his thrust. Again and again he continues to thrust, shuddering each time he feels the tip of his cock striking Riddle’s womb. Faster. Rougher. He fucks him so hard he rattles the bed against the wall, until a second orgasm no-less powerful than the last floods those trembling insides.

Still, Floyd doesn’t stop.]

C’mere…

[Barely coasting off the high of his last climax, he quickly aims for another, sharply pistoning his hips to ensure every last drop of seed stays firmly rooted in Riddle’s belly. Teeth find a collarbone, a shoulder, a pulse— There will be zero doubt on where these angry red marks came from, that’s for certain.]

[ Were Floyd to be turned off by his bossiness, they'd never have gotten to this point. The two of them would never have gotten along (or, didn't get along) as well as they had over the last two years. Never in a million years did Riddle think he'd be under Floyd like this, practically begging him to fill him up so much that there would be no doubt that he'd end up carrying his child.

There's a slight gasp that slips out as the fabric tears. Riddle opens his mouth further to complain, but is quickly distracted by the nails digging in against his skin, the palm against his messy cock. The way Floyd shifts inside him, jerks him. Riddle can't help but whine in need, his breath coming out in hot, heavy little puffs.

Both of his hands fall back down in full, fingers grasping pathetically at the sheets of his bed, as if he could grab on and cling to them in a way that'd distract him from the overwhelming pleasure that was just having his mate here, inside of him like this. ]

Huh-? I'm not-- Floyd...!! [ The complaint is cut off by a loud cry of the other boy's name, with the way Floyd thrusts forward into him, pulling him into it, slamming into him with the ferocity Riddle had damn well begged for, but somehow hadn't been ready for. It's so much, so fast, so rough, that he can feel the building pressure in himself.

He's seeing white, squeezing his eyes shut. Unable to process his own second orgasm as it hits, his focus only on the feeling of that pulsing cock inside of him, filling him with more and more of that seed he so desired.

Those teeth, the feeling of his bites were just as sweet as those thrusts inside of him. His eyes open, halfway, to peer at the stronger boy. He squirms-- if he just moves the right way, he can bring his own leg up, to hook it over Floyd's shoulder. He's damn lucky he's flexible enough to make it happen, as it allows him to turn his upper body some, enough to try and expose the nape of his neck further. To give Floyd more space to work.

To press his face against his arm, to try and stifle his own cries. Still, he tries to stammer, to reply in some form, to babble out a few words amidst his haze, ]

The whole dorm is going-- to hear me, if you're not careful.

[ Because, duh, that's Floyd's fault. ]

floriddle shenanigans

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