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Post by Tybalt on May 1, 2009 15:34:52 GMT -5
Mercutio's fingers in Tybalt's hair made him self-conscious, although he wasn't sure why. The style of his hair was not guarded in any particular way; it had just grown overlong, and he was just as careful with it as he was with anything else, as Tybalt tended to be fastidious about cleanliness. It was common for young boys to wear hair long like a girl's, and Tybalt had not always had his long; it had been cut at the appropriate age, but it had been a long while since he'd trimmed it again.
If Mercutio was going to insist on pushing his fingers through it, he might have to cut it. Their rendez-vous were already unnervingly addictive without the addition of such a strangely intimate and unnvering gesture on Mercutio's part. That was doubtless the intention, of course. This was always Mercutio's intention. It did not make Tybalt want to go easy on him, but surely Mercutio wasn't expecting him to.
Although, even as Tybalt was pushing Mercutio back onto the bed, he would have been sorely disappointed - or, more accurately, spooked - if Mercutio did not put up a fight at some point.
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Post by Mercutio on May 1, 2009 16:49:05 GMT -5
Pushing Mercutio back onto the bed was not hard to do. He hadn't yet begun to fight- he knew just as Tybalt did that there would be a struggle, for there was always a struggle when they met of some kind or another, whether it be between the sheets or on the streets, and Mercutio did not plan on disappointing. But he was not so predictable as to always have a definate snapping point, unlike Tybalt, whom Mercutio found quite predictable indeed and only had to force him into some vulnerable position or make a quip about his aunt to make him snarl and seethe (and was spooked when Tybalt didn't rise to the bait, when he showed some unexpected restraint, just as Tybalt would be were Mercutio to never act). Mercutio was content for now to live in the moment, pulling Tybalt down with him to make damn sure he did not dare move away and feeling the heat trapped between them rise.
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Post by Tybalt on May 1, 2009 19:12:58 GMT -5
Tybalt resisted being pulled along by Mercutio, but only for a brief moment, and on an automatic level. Although it could be argued that the gut reaction to Mercutio's behavior was not to pull back, but rather to lean in, it was nonetheless true that there was an equally sharp and severe counter-reaction for Tybalt to freeze whenever he did feel the impulse to throw himself into something. It was not so out of place here. Only a fool would pitch himself into the arms of one without any regard for the abuses he would suffer. Although only a fool would consider himself as only suffering abuses...
Tybalt pinned Mercutio very swiftly, in a manner that seemed suspiciously akin to one of their deadlier scuffles, although of course they'd never been so close before, and kissed his throat, albeit in a reserved manner.
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Post by Mercutio on May 1, 2009 21:24:11 GMT -5
Tybalt pinned him, and Mercutio shifted, hips rising, one leg between Tybalt's and the other pressed to his side in one lazy, purposeful movement. He was more hesitant about baring his throat, as the line between lover and enemy was transient and quick to change, and harder still to forget. The tension in his body varied, with the protective jut of a shoulder melting into vulnerable access, the arching of his back to press them together then the jerky fall away, and the urgent, impatient way he wormed a hand free to twist it into Tybalt's shirtfront.
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Post by Tybalt on May 5, 2009 20:46:38 GMT -5
Tybalt jerked, something dropping in his stomach and knotting uncomfortably at the sudden sensation of Mercutio's body shifting against his, pleasurable as it was; but soon he had slid closer, too, their limbs further entangling. His own fingers moved to the buttons on Mercutio's shirt, baring his skin further. His hair fell onto Mercutio's throat as he dipped his mouth down to kiss his shoulder further. There was something moderated, measured about the sensuousness of this, but planned though it might have been, it was still there.
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Post by Mercutio on May 5, 2009 21:02:34 GMT -5
Well, the purpose of his hand fisted in Tybalt's shirtfront had been to drag the man off of him and ravish him mercilessly, but Tybalt's mouth was beginning to move lower, and Mercutio was interested in seeing how far the Prince of Cats would go. Very interested. In fact, one could say he was positively aching to know.
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Post by Tybalt on May 6, 2009 7:54:11 GMT -5
Indeed, Tybalt had some vague perception that he did not usually do this with Mercutio, and in that, probably did it very little with anyone. He had a faint recollection of having done something like it with a woman in a brothel, once, years ago, this leisured kissing, but that memory clouded his mind like smoke, confusing him as much as it might have if it were the smoke from a hookah. And he was as much an addict, now, wasn't he? Her body had been nothing like his, long and lean and fair, so especially fair in the darkness. Absolutely alabaster. And his eyes were strangely bright, if Tybalt happened to glance up at him.
As he felt Mercutio's ribs pressed beneath his tender mouth, his stomach again clenched, though he didn't give into it, having long since learned to restrain it, or maybe it was restraining him. Would it be more natural to try and throw Mercutio off, to take advantage of the moment and... ? Roughly shove the knife in his boot into that ribcage? He pushed the thought away, but it wouldn't hurt, would it, for Mercutio to think the same thought. His manner grew harder, a little sharper, a little quicker, and his hands, having finished with the shirt buttons, caught Mercutio's wrists again and pinned him back to the bed.
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Post by Mercutio on May 6, 2009 8:19:00 GMT -5
Mercutio let out his breath in a disappointed, irritated little huff as Tybalt began to move up, but he had some brief illumination of what the other man mean to do and gave a sudden struggle to keep from being held down again, wrists twisting in Tybalt's grip. The long subtle press of Mercutio's body became a steady pressure to overthrow him, half-scuffle, half-manipulative sensuality in the reckless way that Mercutio smiled and slid a freed hand between Tybalt's legs.
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Post by Tybalt on May 6, 2009 8:32:01 GMT -5
Tybalt's curled hand, once Mercutio had wrenched his own from it, was pressed against the mattress to push himself up, a sharp turnaround for him - and at the none-too-subtle press of Mercutio's hand, the most wretched of involuntary gasps was forced from his mouth. He tossed his hair, the ends of it catching on his mouth, several strands in disarray in his face. With more composure, he might have reached up his hand to push them impatiently out of the way, but he did not want to show any vulnerability to Mercutio, of course.
His eyes met Mercutio's almost as though he were shocked by his behavior, a sort of hostility in them, a baleful reproach, before he averted them - as though he couldn't bear to look at him any longer, although this was proven to be not the case when his eyes trailed up the length of exposed bare skin and he leaned forward in a moment to repress his mouth to it.
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Post by Mercutio on May 6, 2009 15:12:37 GMT -5
A considerate lover would have brushed back his hair for him, but Mercutio was not considerate, and Tybalt would never make the mistake of thinking so; in fact, Mercutio took small pleasure from it, to see Tybalt looking momentarily so taken off guard, so mussed, and then the fierce, laughable glare that sprung to cover it. It delighted Mercutio, this illicit affair, that he could have Tybalt in his bed and that he could see Tybalt like this, that he was the one to elicit that gasp. Oh, it was beautiful, it was wonderful, it was so, so funny-
Mercutio shifted again, sitting up in one smooth movement and pushing Tybalt with him, although he did not move his hand, no, no, he was not about to do that. His hand- his other hand, that is, not the one that would stay where it was so that Tybalt would be very, very aware of it, especially now as his grip tightened teasingly- seized the Capulet by the chin and drew him up for a kiss, another rough and demanding kiss.
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Post by Tybalt on May 6, 2009 15:41:33 GMT -5
All right, so Mercutio apparently had no intention of allowing Tybalt to continue anything with his mouth. Tybalt's shoulders tensed as Mercutio seized him and pulled him closer for another kiss. He was as always aware of the fact that a kiss was not just that between the two of them, and suspected that Mercutio intended nothing more than to turn the tides between them. And he was just as aware that, unlike on the streets, where Tybalt routinely won, not even all that fairly, being simply that much better than Mercutio, Mercutio was his superior here.
And the worst part was that he was not entirely certain he wanted to beat Mercutio.
Although his first impulse was to roughly shove Mercutio back with a bit of a snarl and return to what they'd been doing, on his terms, his second was to let Mercutio do it, was to beg him to. He would never, of course, but frozen between these two impulses he more often than not failed to do much of anything.
He pressed into Mercutio almost as though submitting, kissing him back as deeply and demandingly for only a moment before his hand wrenched in Mercutio's red hair and he pushed him back again coldly, straddling him as he leaned down to continue to kiss him, very firmly on top.
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Post by Mercutio on May 6, 2009 15:55:06 GMT -5
Mercutio turned his head away, splaying fingers over Tybalt's mouth as though he'd muzzle him. There was the sideways glint of an amused eye, shadows pooling beneath his brows from the dim light, and a low, "Oh, Tybalt, do share," before Mercutio pushed up again, his hand no longer between Tybalt's legs but instead a much more painful bargaining chip, that is, his knee. Mercutio had no wish to be straddled, or so completely pinned down.
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Post by Tybalt on May 6, 2009 16:13:49 GMT -5
The sound of Mercutio's voice as he said his own name bothered him irrationally, made his mouth sour, made him pull back and try to push his hair back; but even removing himself momentarily to collect himself was something of a retreat, therefore something of an obvious failing on his part, and so, despite the building tension, the building teeth-aching pressure, he couldn't stay away for long. If that was the only reason. Ha - of course it wasn't.
But this turn was over, and he'd lost, and so, although he hardly rolled over, he was slightly gentler and more malleable. At least until he thought Mercutio'd taken advantage enough. Besides, it was easy to slide into the oblivion of kissing.
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Post by Mercutio on May 6, 2009 16:33:39 GMT -5
It was rare to get this without a fight, so Mercutio took immediate advantage, fingers crawling up Tybalt's chest beneath his shirt to stark collarbones and making Tybalt lift his arms to remove it. He was slightly taller than the other man, although that made little difference on the bed, and Mercutio had to create his own trap of insistent hands and hot mouth without benefit of his height and gangly limbs. Or at least, without the height that would have otherwise allowed him to tilt Tybalt's face up; the limbs were involved well enough in pulling Tybalt against him.
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Post by Nicolas de Lenfent on May 6, 2009 20:23:06 GMT -5
**AS TYBALT**
Tybalt did not like to comply, however thoughtlessly he usually did when he was surrendering, however self-loathingly, however longingly, to sensation, but he did not often feel as though he had a choice. Their legs slid together again, bodies rocking as though trying already quite insistently to tug down the trousers over their hips, and Tybalt, his own shirt off, mussing his hair up wonderfully (not that he knew), moved his own hands immediately to Mercutio's, pushing with fastidious and hard-pressing fingers at Mercutio's shoulders to force the shirt over them. His tongue slid against Mercutio's, the tip of it tracing over the ridges of his teeth in a way that made him morbidly aware of the shape of his skull beneath that fey face of his. Well, it was better than to feel the effect of Mercutio's own tongue elsewhere, wasn't it? And he did suppose he meant all kinds of elsewhere.
As though that morbid matter of cerebellum was the point of this, his hands pushed beneath the small of Mercutio's back, pulling his hips against his own, before sliding up his back, feeling the shape of his spine. It was easier to make himself feel he was becoming acquainted with the skeleton rather than the supple flesh that covered it, the tendons and muscles that were so skillfully manipulated by Mercutio, as though he were a puppeteer and his body able to bear the brunt of the most fantastical twisting. Perhaps that was why he was so willing to enter into a fray, even though he was likely to lose, to lose himself to these uninhibited, wild nights they stole as a direct insult to God and goodness - because his body was really nothing to him, and he had no heart, nothing that needed to be guarded from bruising...
...Well. It was most certainly not true of his willing - if grudgingly so - partner. And Tybalt had the feeling Mercutio knew it, and found it pleasurable, and, indeed, against his mouth, might even have been tauntingly smiling about it.
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