splitmemory | late night study sessions

Why did Trey have to be so right? Riddle's grip tightens on his wrist, his jaw tightening as he clenches down, staring Trey in the eye. This... jerk knew exactly what he was doing, where he was going from the start, and seemed to be a good three steps ahead of Riddle.

"I-- it's hardly-..." Riddle makes a face, and instead of trying to argue it?

He brights that one hand up from Trey's shoulder to push at his face, try to cover his mouth, to get him to stop talking, stop pointing out the obvious truth. "Then, what? The solution is to come sneak into your bed each and every night? What if someone starts to suspect there may be something more going on here?"

Hah. Lost for words, is he? Riddle doesn't have a leg to stand on. He knows this isn't good for him; he's just reluctant to take the steps he needs, to reach for the help he needs, until he can rest easy with himself. Doesn't he already know what he should do, even if he's not willing to admit it to himself just yet?

Riddle's hand covers his mouth quite thoroughly, muffles his voice even if he does try to talk. So why should he, until he's actually able to be heard again? The way Trey smiles against Riddle's palm is the only warning he'll get, before Trey's legs tighten around Riddle's, before he rolls his whole weight to the side to switch out their positions. Who needs to push up against the pin, when they can add their opponent's weight to their own momentum instead?

--huh?

The smile against his palm, that little warning, wasn't enough to get him to realize his imminent doom. His eyes widen as, all of a sudden, they're tussling again. Or, well, they're rolling over, Riddle's grip loosening on his wrist and releasing it. Before he can think, he's lying on his own back now, their position swapped with an ease that, really, he hasn't expected.

His breath catches, his face still flushed with tinges of embarrassment from earlier and, now, the small hint of annoyance that's always made it's home on his face.

His own words hang in the air, as all he can really do is stare up at Trey, blinking away his own surprise.

What is there to be embarrassed about, Riddle? Only the thought that maybe people will suspect something untoward is going on between them, once they realize where you're going. Only to realize how fully you've made yourself straddle Trey's thigh, when he's pressed down against you and pinning you against the mattress. Released, Trey reaches to grasp Riddle's wrist, instead; his other hand splays over Riddle's chest, as much a pin as simply supporting his own weight on him.

"Did you have a better idea, then?"

That is exactly what there is to be embarrassed about!!!! Riddle's wrist is easy to grasp, and just as easily, Riddle begins to realize how thoroughly he'd messed up getting so cocky, thinking he couldn't be overpowered. Can Trey feel how quickly his heart was beating, with that hand splayed against his chest? Surely he can see the deep red flush that gets deeper and deeper with every passing second, the way the fabric of Trey's own cardigan holds against his small arms and splays partially out behind him.

He still has one hand free himself. Before he can think, he's reaching up to grab at Trey's shirt, curling his fingers and grasping a chunk of fabric in his hand.

"No. I don't. But there will be rumors. Surely... surely you see that."

Please, Seven, keep his mind from thinking too deep into this, from wandering off into a completely other realm.

Poor Riddle is on his own, for this one; Trey doesn't happen to find a pin particularly embarrassing, especially if he's the one on top of it. It's all too easy to see (and feel, for that matter) how flustered Riddle is getting, but..... well, wouldn't that happen regardless, if Riddle was pushed into a corner some other way? It's only natural, when Riddle finds himself scrambling to reassert his authority. At least he's wearing a loose, casual shirt for bed, rather than anything like his uniform.....

"Sure. But people talking is preferable to them questioning your health or prying into your affairs, isn't it? Or maybe you just need something to help tire you out and take your mind off of things before bed."

Something to help tire him out and take his mind off things. What in the world could Trey be suggesting?! Was he suggesting that they... no, he couldn't be. No, he wouldn't. Would he? Riddle's mind is racing, trying to keep up with the words of his childhood friend, to keep up with the thoughts he was having, the things he was suggesting. It's almost like his silent prayers were given something completely opposite to what he asked for; he's squirming slightly under Trey's pin, trying desperately to angle his hips back towards the bed, to avoid anything being felt by the other boy as he tries to keep his mind settled.

"To- tire me out? What sorts of things...?" Nope, he can't meet Trey's eyes. It's too much, there's something about the position, the hold, the way their legs are tangled, the press of Trey's weight over him, the words he chose to use-- how was he supposed to keep his mind from wandering, to keep his thoughts from becoming all too unsavory???

"And you're suggesting that you'd be the one to tire me out, then?" At least, he can try to turn it right back onto Trey, tilting his chin up slightly, forcing himself to try and meet his eyes out of some form of defiance.

Riddle seems..... restless. More than the suggestion really warrants, if he's honest; there's no need to be so uncomfortable that he can't even look him in the eye. Why? Does he really dislike the idea of occupying himself to help ensure he'll rest well? Was protesting the idea of crawling into bed with him more of a token refusal to save face, rather than not wanting to come spend the night with him? Or maybe--

"Me? I-I mean--" Oh. Oh. The clarification is suddenly enough to bring the whole issue into focus; Trey at least has the grace to flush, suddenly realizing the implications of his words. How had he managed to spout a line like that so obliviously, even after he'd needed to force himself to ignore the accidental innuendo of Riddle's request? And that isn't even considering the position they're in now..... Oh, geez. This is suddenly so much more awkward than he'd ever imagined it could be.

Sill, far be it from him to let something like awkwardness or tension get in the way. If he was able to be turned aside so easily, they never would have repaired their friendship to begin with, would they? "I meant exercise or busywork. You know, like..... cleaning? Cooking? Going for a run?"

Actually..... maybe Riddle doesn't know. Surely he wouldn't have been allowed to cook for himself, with his diet so tightly controlled, and his mother surely must have thought his time would be spent better studying than cleaning, at least until he had learned the sort of practical magic that would make cleaning a form of study in and of itself. Had he been allowed the time and opportunity for solitary exercise? Had his family employed housekeepers or cooks, given how busy doctors and medical mages so often were?

Trey's own flush shows he's realized exactly what he's said. He understands the implications, the suggestion made with such an easy phrase. In any normal circumstance, one where he wasn't as invested in the idea brought on by assumptions, Riddle wouldn't even be anywhere near this line of thought he was in the middle of.

Really, he had little life skills before leaving the constant watch of his mother. Dance lessons, etiquette courses, studies of all sorts, all left no time to do anything that was not on the prescribed to-do list. Trey should know that more than anyone, enough to assume what Riddle might be used to, might be lacking in his own life.

And, having become Housewarden as early as he did? He didn't even have to experience being a card soldier for all that long.

The one free hand he has lifts, comes to grab the collar of Trey's shirt, tugging it to pull him down further. Enough that it might seem like he's trying to tussle more, to try using one hand to get leverage, but. Instead, that hand releases his shirt just as easily, once their faces are closer. Further and further up his fingertips slide, pressed against the skin of his collarbone, neck, and jaw, until finally he brings that hand to the back of his head.

He makes it a damn point to look him in the eye, lowering his voice to a murmur.

"... Right now, I like my idea better." Should he be even more bold? He doesn't know how Trey feels, he doesn't know if this is something he should be suggesting.

"and I think you should stop talking."

Bold, with a clear path that he wants to take, with the way he tilts his chin slightly up more, closing that gap even further. Stubbornly.

If Trey doesn't close that gap, Riddle will. It's obvious with the way he speaks, that he's testing him. Seeing what might land.

It's a very particular set of skills that Riddle had been instilled with in his youth. Ones that had served him well, if Trey has to be charitable--Riddle is well-suited to academics, and if he had any intention of staying on the life path so painstakingly charted for him? He would know everything he was required to know, really. Those practical (or would Riddle's parents say menial?) life skills he had been denied could be simply be delegated as a matter of convenience, problems that became easy to solve so long as you threw enough money at the problem.

Too bad it isn't so easy to simply hire someone to protect you from matters of the heart. When you've been left entirely in the dark in a situation where there are no rules or right answers, weak and vulnerable, isolated with nobody to reach out to.....

That's when the difference between mere aristocracy and true royalty makes itself known. A queen who has earned her crown knows how to lead her own card soldiers into battle, and has assembled a worthy court she knows she can trust. Tonight even more than most is showing quite plainly how hard Riddle has been working to grow into his role, even if buckling down and learning about all those missing skills and experiences is humbling and painful.

Is Riddle pulling him down to lock eyes with him like this just one more of those lessons, then? It certainly feels like a commanding, convincing demonstration of trading weakness for strength, when Trey only finds his face burning so much hotter under Riddle's touch, when he realizes his heart is racing against Riddle's chest as the space between them disappears. He'd only meant to offer Riddle a safe space, to give him options and advice, to help..... But maybe he should stop talking. Maybe this time the right answer really is 'Yes, Your Majesty!'

The hand holding Riddle's wrist loosens uselessly as Trey forgets himself, eyes closing and melting into the kiss. If Riddle really had wanted to start tussling again, would distracting him like this really be such a bad strategy?

Firsts happen for a variety of reasons. The first time Riddle dared to question why his home life was the way it was, why he wasn't allowed to go out and play with the other children who he saw right outside of his window, was brought on by the slow realization that what he was doing wasn't normal, was not usual. The first time Riddle opened up a book that held fictional material rather than something to study, finding a small sliver of an escape within the pages that so closely resembled the ones that were the instruments of his learning and disgust...

And the first time he'd learned what 'kissing' was, from that very same book. The question he'd asked, the answer he got, it wasn't enough. It was necessary, then, to reach to peers, to grab their sleeves, to ask a simple question, a request. Their first kiss wasn't now, in Trey's bedroom, after Riddle's initiation. No, their first had happened before, silly and childish and. The same embarrassmemt he felt all those years ago comes flooding back.

With a face burning with heat, Riddle waits. To see whether Trey will melt into the kiss, accept it, or pull away. Reject him, in the clearest of ways. In one that, frankly, Riddle expected. Instead, Trey defies all logic. Their bodies are pressed so close together, so much so that Riddle briefly wonders if Trey could feel his heartbeat too, the relentless muscle pounding away in his chest.

Regardless, his eyes slip closed as he focuses on their kiss, on the feeling of Trey's lips on his own. Riddle's quick to take charge in another way, by deepening the kiss already, by adding a perhaps shocking level of need behind it. The floodgates were open, leaving absolutely nothing behind.

Riddle would, too, take advantage of the way Trey's grip loosens on his wrist, but not to get back to tussling. No, instead, he slips his wrist down, out of that hold, to take Trey's hand in his own, lacing their fingers together slowly. Sliding his hand up back in place by his head, back of it pressed against the mattress, Riddle demands one thing: care, affection.

There is no world where his mother would approve of this... but he'd be damned if he let her take it. To take him all over again.

It's difficult not to remember that first, so many years ago. How clumsy they were back then, how awkward and embarrassing it was, nearly knocking off his glasses trying to figure out how to keep from bumping their noses and foreheads together..... It wasn't much of a kiss, looking back on it, struggling to mimic what he so often saw his own parents do to show Riddle what it was supposed to be like--what it was supposed to mean. It had been silly to ever imagine he could convey something like that at their age, hadn't it?

It feels different this time. Their hearts are pounding just the same, he's no less flustered than he had been, but even so. Even so! He knows more now, now, knows better. He may not be the best kisser by any stretch of the imagination, let alone as eloquent and expressive as plenty of people he knows, but..... Even if he hasn't had that much more practice kissing, he's had plenty of practice in showing love, in ways both small and large, loud and silent.

This is..... intense, in a way he hadn't anticipated. (As though he'd anticipated literally any of this?) It's not hard to take control; if anything, Trey falls into line remarkably easily, lips parting to welcome Riddle deepening the kiss, squeezing Riddle's hand once their fingers lace together. The hand pressed into his chest gives way, instead letting him sink down more fully atop Riddle. Is this what Riddle wants? For them to be bodily pressed together--tangled around each other, even--from head to toe, breathless and uncomfortably warm, wholly engrossed in kissing him--in Riddle himself, attention as thoroughly commanded as though Riddle had tied him to the bed.

Even just a taste was enough to ignite a fire in him, a fire that burns bright. Brighter, even, than most of the fires that burn within him. This one is fueled by the freedom he feels in this moment. They weren't breaking any written rules, and even if his Mother wouldn't approve of him being around Trey like this...? She would hardly approve if he was with ANY other boy, if he let his feelings do the talking.

It doesn't matter. All that does right this second-- is what he wants. What Trey wants, too, if this is something he wanted-?

Riddle pulls back from the kiss right as he's about to deepen is further, leaving Trey's lips with one little brush of his tongue against his bottom lip. His lips stay parted, his eyes fluttering open so he can look at the other boy, to take in the flush on his face.

He ...
Has no clue what to say.

The hand he has against the back of Trey's head adjusts only slightly, coming up further to let Riddle carefully pet his hair, his eyes staying half open, only half focused. Distracted, thinking, trying to figure out what to say.

In the end, it's a quiet murmur, a demand.

"Tell me -- do you want me? ... Have you ever?" One question, then the other, softer, quieter. Nervous energy invading his confidence in one fell swoop.

It's a little embarrassing in and of itself how breathless he is by the time Riddle pulls away, how tempted he is to chase after the younger boy's lips. It's not the sort of fire he's used to feeling, in himself most of all. He's never burned bright or hot or passionate, after all--always been the moon to his friends' suns, freshly-turned earth and dark still waters. Even so.....

Even he can be..... unsatisfied by the tranquility he's usually so content with, admire the animated spark that seems to drive so many of his friends forward, even if it so often feels equally overwhelming as enviable.

Trey can't help but want to squirm awkwardly in the face of the question, even as his racing heart starts to calm. Has he ever wanted him? It's..... hard to say. Had those years of wistful wondering and nostalgia spoken to desire, or merely guilt and concern? He'd done his best to put Riddle out of his mind as quickly as he could in those days, knowing how futile thinking of him was--it wouldn't change anything, after all. Riddle was still essentially a prisoner in his own home, one he would surely never see again. And him.....

He might enjoy stories, but he's always been more the practical sort than someone full of fanciful ideas. Riddle hadn't been some princess in a tower waiting to be saved, and he hadn't been some knight in shining armor. If anything, he was the witch or dragon who had forced Riddle to be away to start with. And once Riddle had been released, well..... Trey's gaze drops, self-conscious and almost shy. ".....Yeah. I couldn't stop thinking about you, when I found out you had enrolled here too."

The reality of it all? Riddle was the one to push Trey away again, the moment they were able to be reunited. He wasn't the same Riddle that Trey had known before. No longer the timid boy reaching out both his hands to the friends who he trusted, who he thought knew more than him. No, now he was someone else, no longer allowed to stumble, to do something half-heartedly. To do so would be a disgrace to himself, a disgrace to those around him.

The answer is an acceptable one. More, that answer... reminds him, too, of the harsh ways he would talk to Trey, the cold shoulder he gave him despite the things Trey did for him, trying to look out for him. Riddle saw ir, of course he did--

But the thought that it would never last hurt. After his overblot, the realization that Trey was still on his side after all this time. Not only him, but...

Riddle takes in a small little breath, nodding slightly.

"I thought about you, too." Riddle admits, keeping his voice nearly as quiet as Trey's. "Tonight... I want you to distract me, tire me out, however that may happen. Then, tomorrow night..."

"I will do it your way. Help you in the kitchen, whatever it is I can assist with in the evening." Riddle cards his fingers through Trey's hair, keeping his eyes on him.

"I don't want to be able to think about anything but you tonight. Got it?"

It had been hard to think about everything that had happened between them, before--and that still had hung in the air between them, invisible and unspoken but always felt, like breathing in choking toxic fumes during alchemy class. Even once they had been reunited, it at once felt like everything was unrecognizably different, and as though nothing had changed at all. That insurmountable distance had still been standing between them.....

But instead of being dragged as far apart as possible? On campus he might as well have been bound and gagged, locked into place with nowhere else to go, at once being crushed and torn apart. What were you supposed to do when you weren't allowed to reach out or pull away, yet holding still was nearly unbearable? How could you possibly give someone the respectful space they needed, while still providing the obedient support they demanded? It wasn't as though he'd been allowed to turn down the position of Vice Housewarden, even if he hadn't campaigned for it of his own accord. He can't in all fairness say he had truly resented being pushed into the job that nobody else had wanted, even knowing he was nothing but a sacrificial lamb.....

But it would be a lie to say that it hadn't been one of the most painful things he'd been forced to do, either. Even knowing that it was the right thing to do hadn't been enough to salve that wound enough to let it heal. Maybe, now that they've had a little time to breathe, they'll both be able to find the chance to get the healing they need. Trey's smile is a little rueful, but he nods even so, subdued under the hand in his hair. This much, at least, he can do. He might not know exactly what Riddle needs, but..... they can figure it out together, can't they?

Just like he always has. He's..... safe. Reliable. Approachable. Attainable. Non-threatening. ~~Never your first choice, but never your last either, right?~~ It's okay to experiment with him, because there are never any consequences for failure. It's fine to take your time and practice until you get it right, when your partner is so patient and understanding. Right? "Got it. You don't..... know how you want me to do it yet, do you?"

There's absolutely no doubt in Riddle's mind that he had fully pushed Trey into a tight spot at times. That he was the reason their relationship stayed so strained despite the shackles being removed. A picture perfect image of his Mother, her perfect little doll who could only repeat what he'd been told, to act in the ways he was allowed. It might not be his fault exactly, but the guilt still settles in at all times, making it hard for him to even look Trey in the eyes sometimes. How were they supposed to move on, when his truths were out for everyone to know?

When his feelings were bared, his sobs open and clear, and his intense loneliness and regret bubbling up to a point where he couldn't take it. Even now, he struggles to reach out, struggles with what he was taught versus what he needed or wanted. There was a logic, prescribed and waiting, that he was supposed to follow.

"I have actually thought about it before." Straying from all logic was Riddle, following his heart for the evening. Squeezing his hand, where theirs are still clasped, he continues, "I want you to explore me. To show me as much affection as you can, in the form of your touch. And..." Is this too much to ask?

"Please me thoroughly," Riddle leans up, to whisper his next words into Trey's ear, "I've thought long and hard about this. Out of anyone, I want you to be my first. The first to get their hands on me, to have their fingers inside, and then... more, to make certain you can't get enough of the feel of me. To make you keep coming back for more."

"Unless you can't handle it...?"

He's actually thought about it before. Riddle has thought about it before, about him--or at least, someone--touching him, satisfying him..... His heart wasn't meant to take so many shocks in one night. How is it that the mere idea is so much more scandalizing than what Riddle actually tells him? Wanting to be explored, to be doted on? It's a simple enough request. There's nothing really unusual about it; even so, Trey's face burns hotter, wondering just how long and hard Riddle might have been thinking about what he would ask for, if he could.

Why in the world would Riddle have wanted him to be his first? Hadn't he hated him until recently?

Well, at least they're in a good position for it already? Maybe a little too good, considering how much it must have contributed to them stumbling down this path. How naïve he'd been, to think he was only crawling out of bed long enough to scold a few freshmen for staying up past curfew..... Trey squeezes Riddle's hand, free hand straying uncertainly lower to toy with the hem of Riddle's pajama top. Is this really okay? Riddle won't freak out and change his mind the second they actually start, will he? "I-I think I can handle it....."

Once he'd asked his question, Riddle lets his head fall back against the pillow, his gaze focused on Trey. Taking in the flush on his face, the expression he wears, the clear nerves in his eyes, in his movements. This wouldn't be like their first kiss. It would be more intense, something that would forever change their dynamic, wouldn't it? What would Trey think of him after this? Would he still stand by his side as his Vice? Or, would this push him further away, make him think less of him?

The one thing he knows this must be doing is confusing him. All he can hope is that Trey will hold those feelings and not ask, not question, at least for now.

Riddle's hand squeezes Trey's in return, encouraging. He's going to need to slip off the cardigan he'd borrowed, too, but for now, the wandering hand was a good sign, wasn't it?

"I need a firm yes or no, Trey." Riddle's voice is firm, minus any harshness. "You either can or you can't. Do not think about it. Tell me how you feel. What you want, too." Bold, strong, confident. Those are three things that Riddle tried to be, strove to always exude, and did so without a thought at this point. It's who he is, now, even if he didn't understand some things. Free hand moving down against his head, then to his back, trailing to Trey's side. Clearly, preparing to feel him up, touchy in his own right.

This is more than a little daunting, if Trey is honest. How could he not be full of nerves, realizing that he's supposed to be trying to measure up to fantasies? Whatever version of him Riddle had dreamed up, whatever he had imagined they might do with him, do to him..... obviously he would fall short of the mark. Even if he were amazing at sex, there's just no help for it: Fantasies aren't forced to obey the laws of reality. Fantasies will never be as disappointing, frustrating, awkward, messy, or tedious as the genuine article.

And yet..... that's still no excuse not to try, is it? He'd given up on them--on Riddle--once before, when they were both too young to have any other choice. He doesn't want to do it again. He doesn't want to regret not trying his best in something actually important to him, when the only way he's gotten anywhere in the things he's actually good at is constant practice. He's never been what anyone would consider bold, strong, or confident, save perhaps his family--but nobody can say he doesn't put his head down and put in the work when you're counting on him, either. He does the best he can with what he has, even when circumstances are..... strange like these, or less than ideal.

He can't just stop thinking about it, just because he's been ordered to--but he can try to steel his nerves, and lean down to press a kiss against the corner of Riddle's mouth. ".....Yeah. I can handle it."

Would it help Trey to know that Riddle was just as nervous, beyond that air of confidence? His fingers shake ever so slightly against his form, his heart pounding away in his chest. Fantasies were fantasies, intense and extreme and illogical... but for someone like Riddle, they had always been simpler, more focused on what other people can grasp onto easier than him, due to the nature of his reality. Little does Trey know, his fantasy was nothing more than the simplest of acts. Nothing extreme, nothing more shocking than the initial idea that Riddle would have thought about him at all.

The little kiss against the corner of his mouth, the added statement. It's enough for him to feel fine continuing. Riddle slips his small hand just past the hem of Trey's own night shirt, pressing a few tentative fingers up against his skin. Tracing up his side while they're still so pressed together.

"Then start by kissing me. Not just on my lips. I want more. I want you to find my weak spots. And... I can show you where to touch, lead you if you need." At this current moment, Riddle completely assumes that Trey has never done anything like this. Really, for now, he doesn't fully take into account that other teenagers do tend to fool around, without any supervision... even if he's doing that very thing.

This is..... it's weird that it's not actually weird, isn't it? They're on a bed in an actually private room in the middle of the night. He hadn't actually managed to lock the door, but it's closed, at least. It's not some hastily stolen moment when and where they could find it, because he rarely has space and time alike to himself. Even the alone time he does have is endangered as a matter of course, knowing that some underclassman could come interrupt him needing help at any moment. It's not even worth trying to touch himself most of the time, unless he finds himself unable to sleep at some Seven-forsaken hour like this.

That's not even considering the nightmare it would be to actually try to obey the stay over paperwork rules Heartslabyul has in place. Who in their right mind would want to ask Riddle for permission to show up for what would essentially amount to a booty call? No, that would be absolutely out of the question.

He can do this. It's going to be fine. It's..... kind of nice, knowing that this would be so normal; the only thing he'll have to worry about is being quiet, and listening to make sure that they won't get disturbed by any dormmates awake when they shouldn't be. (Is this what his parents always had to worry about? Now he's more glad than ever he had taken it upon himself to take care of his siblings, when they had woken up with nightmares.) Trey relaxes under his touch, reaching up to help Riddle out of his cardigan--and whatever pajamas he was wearing under them. They can't very well kiss much else buthis lips while he's all covered up, can they? "I guess there's no harm in pointing me in the right direction, at least."

Nothing about this needed to be rushed, needed to be hurried and quick. The two of them could move slow, could appreciate each other, and soak up the moment. Sure, there's always the risk that someone might knock on the door, might see if Trey was awake for something or another, but Riddle doesn't even know that this is a risk, that students come to Trey rather than him. It makes sense, and would make sense if he knew, but for now? He's blissfully unaware.

Their hands need to separate to allow Riddle to slip off the cardigan, and he needs to pull back his other one. His breathing picks up just slightly, face flushing further as he's ending up the first one without a shirt. He squirms under Trey, helping remove his own shirt and nodding slightly at his words.

The pants can wait. For now, he's going to dip his hands down back to the hem of Trey's shirt, to pull it up and over his head. He refuses to be the only one partially undressed, halfway there.

Then and only then does he grab both of Trey's hands with his own. Bringing them down, he makes Trey press them against his waist, his own hands pressing to the back of them. "I ... don't everything," He leads one hand up along his side, to his chest. The other is kept at his side, where he instead leads Trey's hand to grab. "However. I do know that I like here being touched, teased," His hand leads Trey's closer to the small sensitive nub on one half of his chest - his nipple, there. "And want to be grabbed there, along my waist."

Swallowing, he adds, quietly: "... and... if you want to be... a little rough, that's fine. I just want to experience you, in whatever sense that means."

It's a little awkward, trying to even just partially undress while still tangled together like this. It'll be even harder, once they try to get their pants off; for now, Trey just laughs quietly as his glasses drop onto Riddle's chest, hair only getting even messier from his shirt and overshirt being pulled off for him. If they're looking for suave, this definitely isn't it..... but then again, who would ever expect either of them to be graceful about getting intimate, when so much else of their relationship has been so stilted too? Even if it's embarrassing, they'll get through it together.

At least he doesn't need to see to know where things are in his own bedroom..... Trey carefully scoots the teacups on his nightstand aside (They'll need to be soaked to get the sticky honey residue off, won't they? And both of them will need to brush their teeth again after this, too. How in the world are you supposed to focus on erotic things when you notice everything you still have to do surrounding you?) to make room to set their shirts down, before they're promptly claimed by Riddle's instructions.

Now, what does Riddle want him to.....? Oh, that seems simple enough. Even like this, it's easy to recognize the shape of a nipple under his fingers, to squeeze the curve of a hip where Riddle keeps his hand pressed. Why is he offering to be manhandled, when he sounds nervous at the very thought? Someone so new to this kind of thing doesn't need him to be rough..... A rough first time shouldn't be planned for, if you're nervous about it--if it happens at all, it should be because you got a little too enthusiastic, and forgot your own strength. "Yeah? I don't know..... Seems to me we've had more than our share of being rough already."

Grace, poise - all of it was lost in this moment, where the two of them were taking the smallest of steps towards becoming intimate, towards getting even closer than before, towards a new step. Riddle hardly minds, even if one might expect him to be abrasive about this. No, he's unfocused, mind addled by lust and desire rather than any actual logical thought. Can Trey feel his arousal, pressing up against him? Riddle only realizes now how worked up he'd actually gotten himself, when he shifts and squirms under Trey. How embarrassing.

He nods slowly at Trey's words, his thumb moving across Trey's knuckles. He really doesn't know what he wants more than just 'him', more than just enjoying this moment and being adorned with attention and affection like he'd never been before. This... already, was enough.

"... yes, you may have a point." It was only recently that Riddle needed to spend some time in the infirmary to heal from his Overblot incident, after Trey and the others needed to fight him, to get him to stop using his magic and burning through his reserves... "But isn't sex supposed to be rough?" The question blatantly showcases just how little he knows, despite how hard he's trying to showcase a knowledge.

"It doesn't matter. Stop making me wait." He slowly pulls his hands back from Trey's, to grab onto his fallen glasses, putting them back lopsided-ly onto his face. There!

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