deconstruct | v2 OPEN POST;

CONCEPTS: slow, sweet, gentle intercrural done on a day with nothing to do in a place that is safter than safe. we were bored and we were lazy and we were happy. for the first time in our lives there was absolutely nothing we had to do.

[ for a long while, maybe twenty minutes maybe an hour, at what feels like it would've been the crack of dawn, in another world, andyr is utterly obsessed with the smooth curve of Val's shoulder, eyes following the angle of them as he drifts in and out of half-sleep. pale, unmarred skin the stretches over light muscle - more generated in a test tube than worked into him. someone dreamed him up, and built him into this boy, but they didn't know anything about the soul they'd get. for a while, that lazy morning, with Alva off in the medbay and the room otherwise quiet, save for the hum of the ship, that's what Andyr rolls around in his head. This boy, plugged into this body, with this soul. how does God or whoever controls this decide who gets what frame? maybe he's just angry at humanity for creating their own life, now. considering what they do with it, Andyr can't blame him, or her, or whatever.

they know each other's awake, and have been, for a longer amount of time than would've been awkward, if they'd acknowledged it. thankfully, they don't, and andyr simply lets val's back rest against his chest, feeling the vague rise of ports through the soft cotton of his sleep shirt. eventually, the urge to touch becomes too obnoxious to ignore, and he traces a finger along the angle of his shoulder, from bicep, to the dip of bone, to collar and neck, and down again, catching here and there at the fabric of his shirt. Eventually, his attention moves to along his arm, circling over Val's forearm, adjusting him to touch at the inside of an elbow, where the faint yet familiar pinprick marks from too many IVs and too much blood drawn linger, if you look for them. It's the same on him - marks too small for the Houses to worry about prettying up. Down to his wrist, Andyr's fingers curling over bone that feels too delicate (he wasn't made to endure, like Andyr and Alva and Posie), to his hand, even thinner bones making him think of birds, or kittens. Small, vulnerable, breakable. And yet, he's known more torture than most normal humans will in a lifetime.

can i? Andyr'd asked, the first words of the day, whispered with sleep still touching the edges, low and a bit rough, as fingers tugged at the hem of his shirt. i've seen it before, and i don't care, so unless you have another reason, can i?

you called it gross yesterday.

well, i'm full of shit. plied with a kiss against the corner of his jaw, and another, just behind his ear, the last at the base of his neck, enough to buy a sigh and 'i guess', his hands freed from the light grip that'd landed on them. he's careful, tugging the fabric up, making sure it doesn't snag on the ports, that it doesn't come off too quickly, and that the comforter's pulled snug around them to make up for the lost warmth. to make it even, his own shirt follows, tucked somewhere between the top of the mattress and the headboard, out of the way but not out of reach.

Val's shoulder span is slighter than his, which seems odd to him, because they stuff so much extra into him. you'd think they'd make his body bigger. but like this, he fits between the spaces where Andyr's shoulders round forward, with his arms lazily looped over him, like hugging him to his chest with form alone. fingertips trail over the side of his back, over his shoulder blade, his side, his hip. arm slipped against Val's chest, he thumbs the line of his throat, feels the bob of Val's adam's apple, the dip before his collar bones, and traces down the cool flat of glass plating that is his chest, feeling the thrum of hearts pressed close to the surface, watching over the edge of Valarie's shoulder while his hand smooths lower, to his stomach. soft. more concave than he probably should be, but andyr knows why that is too.

curious, he starts to shift, moves out from behind him, and eases Val to lay down on his back, pushing his arms out to the side when they move to cross over his chest. stop that. and for the moment, the comforter is shuffled back as well, hung over Andyr's shoulders like a mantle, as he scoots down Val's body, to touch his nose just above his navel, then lips.

what're you doing?

looking. with my face.

what do you usually look with?

shut up.

if it were Alva, anyone else other than Val, he might've nipped at the edge of his stomach. but Andyr knows the events he'd been taken to, the parties his brain dead clones are sent to. what he watches, because he's been paid for. what he swallows back. what nightmares scream through his mind later. not even for all the death threats he'd made back home, has he ever threatened to put teeth on him, let alone attempted.

instead, he blows a raspberry.

they waste an hour or so away, rolling around in bed, chatting here and there, while Andyr turns Valarie's body this way and that, running his hands along smooth thighs, down the muscle of a calf, tickle at the soles of his feet and earn a pillow to the side of his head. it's as if that short twenty to thirty minutes of the morning, when Andyr's actually just Andyr, had been extended to fit in the rest of morning, and with the clock somewhere on the wall reaching towards twelve, probably the afternoon as well. it's hardly even sexual, really, despite the two of them in boxer briefs alone, and andyr lingering to kiss here and there. sexuality is such an odd thing for them, these days, and it's half mixed up in just whatever this thing is they do - holding together tight and mimicking affection and comfort. he doesn't really start to get hard, not until he moves between Val's thighs, and kisses gradually upward, feet kicking idly, where they're bent upwards and poking out the opposite end of the comforter, and andyr feels a soft tap at the top of his head.

val looks fragile. all of him does, from the glass plate, to the softness in his eyes, to the slightness of his fingers, to the set of his hipbones. he looks young. he looks temporary, andyr's mind reminds him, and he immediately wants to curl in on him, bleed some of his excess of durability, of healing, into him. KNs were supposed to be the evolutionary future, but they'd spliced and contorted and bent his bones into a painful mold. maybe this is why he kisses him so freely, all over. for the want to heal the body in his arms, to maintain the soul within it.

it's okay. i know. i know you, i know your body. i know what's there, i know what isn't there, i know why you're terrified. it's still okay. nothing changes.

with lips pressing against his neck, his cheek, his eyes, andyr whispers softly, can i try something? i'll be careful. brushes fingers through his hair and an arm slipping under him, fingers tugging at the waistband of his briefs. he waits for the nod of assent, and kisses him soft, and sweet, and achingly kind, as a fingertip brushes between his cheeks. he holds Val tight to his chest, as he takes time working a slicked digit into his body, light pressing and soft circles, and pushing in only so far as he'll take him, before abating. it takes time to get to the spot deeper inside Andyr's been searching for (maybe he paid a little too much attention to all of Alva's medical books), but it's worth it for the way Val's breathing hitches, and his fingers curl into Andyr's shoulders, and the soft moans and gasps as he tenderly works at the cluster of nerves, finger curling inside him to massage and circle and vary pressure, as he slides shallowly in and out of him. apparently Val's capable of orgasm, at least in this sense, as Andyr learns, smiling against his cheek as he shakes against him beautifully.

of course, it leaves andyr hard as a rock, unconsciously grinding against Val's hip, but they get inventive about that too. it's a good day for experimentation. ]

Here, like this. It'll work, okay? [ he definitely sounds very reassuring, as he goes around shuffling Val's legs, crossing one ankle over the other to lock them together, with Val laid on his back, the two of them hidden away in the weird little egg-shaped beds on this deck of the Moira. he'd like to say this isn't the strangest place he's fooled around, but considering his significant lack of fooling around experience... yeah. yeah it is.

moving back to drape over him, there's some kind of lotion used for the sake of slickness, and andyr mutters something about being sure Alva would be mad about it, before settling against him, a hand running soft over Val's side, and his hip, over the swell of thigh to touch light and careful between his legs. the majority of his weight rests on an elbow to the side of Val's ribs, certain the glass can't support all 214 pounds of him, and fingertips brush against the sensitive path of skin between his thighs, up to smooth over the soft rise of tissue where he would've developed more, had his formula not written it out. it doesn't feel strange, same sort of sensitive texture, same warmth, same feeling of intimacy. Andyr's lips find his again, a sort of nervous, almost teenage like shake to them, but broken into a smile, as teeth tug at Val's, while his hips align and his length presses down into the smooth, warm pocket between Val's thighs, breathing out a stuttered sigh. For a moment, he stills, enough to adjust his arms, one wrapped beneath his waist and the other framed behind his shoulders, and his head bows to touch Val's, with a brush of bangs, as he pulls up, and slides back between his legs again, a moan breathed out against his cheek. ]

Edited (wtf tense issues) 2016-06-12 09:28 (UTC)

[ They shouldn't be sleeping in the same bed for all of the arguing they do.

They shouldn't be this close for all the fire back and forth they trade, between Andyr being naturally combative and Valarie being given this newly found sense of agency (with his check-ups, with his food, with the clothing he wants to wear, with who he decides he wants to associate). But here they are, back to front, and Valarie has never felt more safe, more sound, and more utterly complacent than right this moment.

Andyr is tracing a finger up along his skin, over each spread rib and down where the pit of his stomach gives less than it usually does--freshly taken from so that he feels lighter, emptier, but he sleeps so soundly, it should be a crime. He sleeps without having to sit at a strange angle, he sleeps without dreams or without the sudden need to heave. He just sleeps, a good, black sleep that he never knew he deserved. Andyr deserves that kind of sleep as well and he's tempted to stop his hands and hush him. Kiss his cheek softly and roll over to try and blanket him even if he's often told not to sleep on his stomach.

When he's stirred up in the "morning" he has half a mind to fumble out of bed and go somewhere else. Sleep was good, he could do it for a few more hours. He wakes up lethargic, heavy-limbed, but is treated to warm, little kisses spreading over his skin, enough to make him compliant in staying there instead of acting on his original, hypothetical plans, body spread out and open for him once he takes his shirt off, leaves the both of them bared to each other. Val is hyperaware of every port molding to the mattress, of every breath causing his chest to rise and fall as Andyr's lips trail along his navel and he blows stupidly against him and makes him shout, nearly slamming his head with his knees. Hey! he half-hisses and half-whispers, a little overcome by the reaction but overcome even more with the sudden barrage of touches that smooth down along his skin, tickling the joint of his knees and the arch of his foot and his everything responds--alive and bright like fire, accompanied by laughter and reaching forward to pull at Andyr's hair, to tug his face closer for a slow, warm kiss on the mouth.

(He decides: it's too cold to leave the bed anyways, and Andyr knows--he knows to keep the teeth to himself, knows never to palm or grab like an appraisal, knows that open palms and feather light touches and careful adjustments are key to getting him to move without a sudden stiffness in his joints.)

He's instantly darting forward for another when Andyr's mouth leaves to trail down his throat again, only to ask if he can. If it's okay. And for a moment, Valarie's everything sinks down into the springs of the mattress, a heat forming in the pit of his gut and surging up like a sickness he doesn't want to be rid of, a pleasant, longing sort of nausea that dissipates the moment Andyr slicks his fingers and parts him, pressing up against that little sweet spot and making him croon aloud.

The touch is gentle, gentler than he thought Andyr was ever capable of, but his fingers are diligent and he's still stunned to wide-eyed and open-mouthed as he gets fucked on warm, careful fingers. He can feel Andyr's arousal on his thigh, leaking pre and smearing it against his skin and he reaches down with a hand to softly cover the head with his palm, giving it a fraction of the friction it really wants.

He's trying to catch his breath when he looks Andyr in the eye, focusing on the curve of his jaw, on the fact that he's talking to him so gently through this. He remembers

It's the suggestion that comes next that leaves him guessing, with hands slicking up the space between his thighs, with his ankles crossed and his entire body poised with fully awake interest now as Andyr presses himself there between the narrow gap of his thighs, making him shiver at the skin-to-skin contact. He feels like hot velvet, pressing between the sensitive skin of Val's thighs, making him "ohhhhh" with a realization that this is good. This is what good feels like--making his hearts leap up into his throat. ] You can do it more. Faster. If you want...

[ He offers it up quietly into the dark, thighs pressing together a little tighter against Andyr's cock, biting his lip as he lets him slip in again, draws his thighs tight together and then flexes softly, a fluctuation of sensation for him between the slick lotion and Andyr rolling up against him, sounding off against his cheek in a way he's sure he's never heard him before: enjoying himself. He leans into the soft touch of foreheads, reaching up hands to press against the defined muscles in Andyr's shoulders, sinking soft fingers against the creases where muscle meets bone and works to continue the motion.

Kissing him against the mouth is a surreal sort of dream while he presses in the soft gap of his thighs, pre staining the sensitive skin. Andyr's mouth is soft, despite his words, warm and open to him and they kiss, and Val's mouth is greedy for him, open and hungry, little tongue darting over precisely cut teeth, smoothing over their tops, their edges, glancing off the even sharper blade of a tongue he has before eventually stopping, ] It's okay, [ he murmurs, sliding cool, slender fingers through Andyr's hair, pushing it back, lifting his hips a little and digging his heels in for leverage. ] It's ok, I won't break, I'm good. I'm good, I promise... that's it...

nsfw nsfw /bangs fists on table

omfg i made a novel wtf also assumed some more shit + tsv verse bc WHERE ELSE ARE THEY HAPPY 8((

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TFLNS

3

3

sav verse idk ok ( 1/2 )

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for ya

ayyyy

nsfw

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nsfw: sparring / sex

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nsfw: hc shit

ffffff ho'boy

anniversary.

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cw: vaaague non con mention?

nude hawaiian beaches, merry christmas

8'33 bless

rage rage against the dying light

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