turbo heaven 🌼 chrono

[outdistanced]

this boy's hair is so mystifying

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[outdistanced]

[ hmmm well. he has a hand on chrono's hip already, so he holds him fast as the other boy shifts under his touch. even if he's struggling to keep up with the kiss, laurence peppers him with a few more quick, easy kisses before he pulls away to hide his face. feeling pretty satisfied with that reaction, he watches for a moment with a mischievous grin. admiring his work, perhaps; it's surprisingly fun to see him unravel like this. ]

Maybe I should do that more often...?

[ well. not all the time, obviously, but the payoff is pretty nice. and with him leaning back like that, it gives him the perfect opportunity to press his lips back to chrono's neck, nipping gently before following with his tongue, as before. the competitive side of him is still wondering how far he can push him before they both have to stop, so he'll keep exploring those boundaries, cautious but daring, and this time pausing the light scratches to just dig his nails into the skin a little. ]

[clockpunk]

[ it's pretty pointless to be squirming against a hold he has no actual interest in breaking, but some weak attempt is made. there's a part of chrono's mind that itches - he should be doing something, making a play, countering or offering - but the feeling of laurence's eyes on him in that momentary pause is enough to balm-soothe it. he's enjoying this the way it is; they both are. that's really the main goal here anyway, so it's... fine? more than fine??

even if he vaguely understands that this is probably going to serve as another way to shut him up, at some point. fuck. well, he can afford to be a bit contrarian, still. ]

Don't even think- [ says his mouth. ohhh my god yes, says his thoughts. god never mind ] --nhh.

[ and then there's a mouth on his neck again and whatever thread he'd managed to take hold of slips merrily right on out of his grasp. the useless veil of fingers guarding his face leaves its post to knit back into laurence's hair, other hand sliding right off his shoulder to start skimming the skin just under the hem of his shirt again, seemingly of its own accord. then there's the pressure of crescent moon shapes pushing into the (apparently??? what the fuck???) sensitive skin of his back and it feels like he's about to melt into a puddle then and there. the weak, pitched sound he makes is unbearable to his own ears - surely that wasn't him.

whether fastidious logic could hope to win out against... well, irascible horniness, before or right after his 11:55pm alarm goes off, that was the question. ]

[outdistanced]

Tell me how you really feel.

[ the contrast between spoken words and thoughts is so funny and so, weirdly attractive? this effect isn't so bad, actually, not for an application like this. how could he not enjoy hearing that, or seeing how easily chrono gives into the feeling? makes that noise that sends a bit of a shiver down his back?

ah, or maybe that's the hand under his shirt...? either way, it's a pleasant feeling, one laurence fully welcomes and moves into, encouraging. an invitation to... try, at least, to get a similar reaction if he wants, though he's still kind of riding on the high of how such an easy movement could have such an effect at all. hmmm.

what if he tries the same on the hip he's held down? just a simple drag of his nails over the skin under the shirt, teasing just at the hem of his pants. ]

[clockpunk]

[ the... teasing? instruction? both? hooks some of his attention back, again that almost-irritation, the words spoken against his throat causing him to shift back slightly with a vague hiss, but with how dark his eyes are and how high the flush is on his cheeks chrono doesn't really come across as particularly annoyed even with downturned brows. ]

Sh-shut up. [ stupid!! and he leans in to help with just that, kiss a little uncoordinated at first but the hand in laurence's hair guiding him back into it.

then there's that pushback against his palm, a suggestion to explore that he doesn't need to be prompted twice about. laurence's shirt rucks up over his wrist as he slides a mildly roughened hand over the plane of his abdomen, avoiding the healing wound this time; his fingers curl slightly to press the pads of his fingertips against muscle and the ridges of ribs, smoothing over the upper curve of his waist and side of his chest, curious.

and then despite his own encouragement laurence goes and tries that and his hand tightens, clawlike. his legs tremble, the movement leaving singing trails over his hip, less surprisingly just as sensitive or moreso than his back. he can't help the sigh against the other's lips. ]

Laurence.