#mgelliotthc

Elliott

Elliott liked to be in charge.

It wasn’t a control thing, really. It was more a combination of a vivid imagination, excellent verbal skills, and the confidence to go into an encounter with the assumption that you wanted to please him.

You do want to please him, don’t you?

Don’t you want to make him smile? Make the backs of his fingers stroke down your cheek? Make him murmur about how lovely you’re being for him, how you’re being just the sweetest little thing, the stuff of his fantasies, looking up at him all wide eyed from down on your knees?

Yes. He knows you do. And he’ll reward it for you soon, you just have to wait a little longer. Just a little longer, darling. You can do it. Because he loves watching you squirm against the ropes around your wrists. Loves the sounds you make as he strikes his palm against your ass. Loves how eagerly you follow his instructions.

Come sit on my lap, darling.

Open those sweet lips for me. Ah - ah… I didn’t say to close them. Keep them open for me. That’s a love.

Keep those eyes on me, honey. Don’t look away. Right here. It’s all you need to see.

Elliott is good at knots.

Elliott is good with his tongue.

Elliott is good at knowing when you’ve had enough, and when you need him to push you a little more.

He likes to tell you what to say, feed you lines like you’re a character in one of his stories.

“Tell me you want my fingers inside you. Tell me you want them deeper, harder. Oh - oh - oh… that was a lovely noise. You made it when I did… this. Ah, there it is again. Keep making it, darling. It’s transcendent.”

Elliott is all slow movement, drawing things out, making you tremble and whimper and beg before finally, finally giving you what you both want.

And when you’re done, all fucked out and sore in the best kind of way, all spacey and relaxed and looking up at him with that look that makes him shiver, he’ll kiss you on the mouth and draw both of you a bath.

On the flip side, Elliott has a hard time letting you be in charge.

He’ll do it for you. Eagerly, even. He likes new things. He wants you to be happy. But oh man, whether he realizes it or not he’s going to fight you for it.

He’s not trying to be bratty. He’s not trying to be annoying. He just has ideas, okay? Suggestions. If you’d just do this, then that could happen. If maybe you’d shift this thing, then he could do that. All in his head, all unable to get out of it.

Then you order a ball gag and it all kind of clicks into place.

He’s patient as you practiced your knots. He shivers as you run your hands over his chest. He’ll look up at you with dark amber eyes as you work at him. All sweet and pliant and quiet in a way that was still loud, somehow, because he was Elliott and even with something in his mouth he can’t help but give you feedback.

You like his muffled groans.

He likes it when you ride him.

He likes it when you degrade him.

He likes it when you pull the gag out of his lips and tell him to put his mouth to good use.

Elliott is good with his mouth.

Very, very good.

Tell him that and watch him flush and work harder. Grab him by the back of the neck, but be gentle with his hair. Rock your hips a little, he can take it.

Give him all the care in the world when he’s done. Kiss his neck and hold him close in the bath. He’ll be quiet then, fingers tracing over the faint marks left by the ropes on his wrists. Tell him how proud you are of him and feel him shake. Tell him you love him and watch as he melts into you.

Elliott has a hard time letting you be in charge, but that doesn’t mean he doesn’t want it. Once you get him there you’ll find that every ounce of effort is worth it.

Harvey

Harvey is there for you.

He can read you like a book. He knows exactly what you need from the second you walk in the door.

If you need him to be in charge, that’s what he is. All calm, mild voice telling you exactly what to do.

Go wait for me in the bedroom, sweetheart.

Take off your shirt, then come over here.

Touch yourself, honey. A little slower. Well done, just like that.

All big, steady hands on your body. Cupping around your throat. Grasping gently at your hair. Maneuvering you underneath him. Teeth scraping against your neck, a belt around your wrists.

He likes to tell you no. Click his tongue in gentle condescension when you whine. Tell you that you need to try harder, to be patient. Tell you to be good for him.

Harvey isn’t the type to punish. He doesn’t like to inflict pain. But frustration is a different thing entirely, and he loves having you under his hands, gasping and arching and pulling against your restraints, only to back off at the last moment and leave you gasping his name.

Or the opposite: too much touch, drawing you up and over, again and again, until your body feels like one exposed nerve and pleasure is flirting with pain and finally, finally he’ll sink into you all heavy and full and warm and deep and good.

He’ll praise you, then, as he takes his turn. Tell you how incredible you are, how lucky he is to have you there like that. How crazy you drive him, how distracted you make him, how you’ve changed his life so completely.

And he’ll stay there when you were both done, holding you close, checking your wrists, making sure you’re okay. And of course you’re okay, he always makes it all okay, and the only thing better than his hands on you all strong and sure is the way he’ll tuck you under his chin and let you drift off into sleep.

But…

Sometimes he needs to let go of that control.

You’re always more than happy to oblige.

You can tell by the set of his shoulders when he needs to be told what to do. To be questioned, to have his desires dragged out of him.

“Do you want to put your mouth on me, honey? I bet you do. Look at you. How do you want it? Hard or soft?”

He always wants it hard. Always wants your fists in his curls. Always wants to be on his knees, looking up at you through his glasses. He’ll groan when you press a finger into his mouth, watch you as he sucks. And then when you pull him in he’ll make a sound like relief, all deep in his throat, all hands grasping around your thighs, glasses pressing into the bridge of his nose, long lashes fanning on his cheeks.

He uses his mouth like a man starved.

Or push him back on the bed, lash his hands down. Watch his hips shift. Straddle his chest and make him watch while you touch yourself. Or settle over his mouth. You’ll love the sounds he makes.

Maybe you’ll let him come too. Or maybe not. It’s up to you. He wants it to be up to you. He’s very patient. He likes to be told no. He likes to be told wait. He likes to be told oh, you want to come? You think you’ve earned that? Really? It’s so cute that you think that.

Watch him work even harder after that.

If he finishes or not, he doesn’t care. All he cares is that when he’s done you’ll pull him to your chest, hold him close. Let him listen to your heart. Run your fingers through his hair. Press kisses to his forehead. Tell him what a good job he did.

Because don’t forget: Harvey is there for you. If you’re getting what you need, so is he.

Shane

Shane’s just happy to be there. There with you. There with you beneath him, all soft skin under his hands. Letting him move you. Letting him see you move.

Shane knows where he wants your body to be.

He wants it where he can get at it. He wants it loose and relaxed and yielding. He knows where to put his hands to make that happen. What part of your hip to press. Where to grab on the back of your arm. Just how hard to push your face into the bed to make you cry out and squirm.

He likes the squirming.

He doesn’t have the patience for knots.

He doesn’t care about you being good.

He doesn’t want you to be good.

He wants you pushing back, rolling out from under him so he can pull you back in. He wants your hands grabbing at his hair so he can grab your wrists and press them back into the bed. He wants you rearing away from his kiss so he can grab you by the jaw, pull you back in, get his mouth on you all rough and hot and perfect.

You fucking love it.

Love how easy he is to goad, how strong he is, how he doesn’t hold back when he cracks his palm against your ass. The things he says. No one has even spoken to you like he does, never, you’d kick them out in a heartbeat, but once Shane got going it left you breathless and whining and begging and desperate to please him.

(Fuck, look at you baby, so fucking needy for it, aren’t you? You’re practically drooling. Fuck, you are drooling, aren’t you? Yoba, aren’t you embarrassed by yourself? Squirming around like that? Bet you’d beg for my cock, wouldn’t you? Gonna beg for it? Open up that slutty little mouth and beg for me. There you go. Fucking knew it. Don’t stop. Keep going. Tell me how bad you want it.)

You want it real bad.

And he’ll give it to you, all unrestrained movement and heavy grip and that mouth still going, telling you exactly what to do, exactly who you were, exactly what you were doing to him until it was all too much and it was just movement and force and his face buried in your neck as he groaned your name and melted.

Or…

Maybe you don’t let him do any of that.

Maybe you get your hand in his hair and watch his eyes go blank.

Maybe you pull, get him down on his knees.

Maybe he looks up at you, lips parted, breathing hard.

Maybe you pull again, harder.

Maybe you like the way his pupils dilate.

Maybe you like the way he groans.

Maybe you tell him to touch himself.

Maybe you don’t.

He’ll do what you tell him regardless, especially if you tell him he’s being a good boy.

He really, really likes it when you tell him that.

He’ll keep his hands on his thighs if you tell him to.

He’ll go without air if you tell him to.

He’ll kiss the ground you walk on, if that’s what you need from him.

Just keep him there. Keep him near you. Between your hands. Between your legs. Between your foot and the floor.

(fuck, baby, baby, fuck, if that’s what you want, fucking anything baby, I’ll do it, just tell me, anything anything anything.)

He is extremely eager to please.

He does an extremely good job of it.

He wasn’t overt with his fascination. He was never one to have his hands all over you, wasn’t one to grope and obsess. No lewd jokes, no innuendos. But you noticed the way his gaze would linger, especially in the evening when you traded in your jeans for leggings.

He’d pretend to read, but there was no denying that he’d watch you while you moved around the house. When you’d catch his eye he’d look away with a guilty laugh, and that was your cue to go sit on his lap.

“Mmm, my love,” he’d sigh as you’d settle your back against his front. “I’ll never understand how you can be the epitome of beauty one day, then grow even more breathtaking the next.”

“I’m just talented, I guess,” you’d say, then melt back into him as his palms found the tops of your thighs. He’d rub up and down slowly, squeezing each time he reached the fleshiest parts. You could feel him growing beneath you, and the feeling paired with the heat of his hands would make you squirm.

Elliott would try to keep his composure, but it would never last long. “Darling,” he’d groan, pressing down on your legs and arching his hips up.

Then came the arranging of clothes, the feeling of skin on skin, him all hot and hard between your thighs. “You’re so soft,” he say, the wonder in his voice tempered by the desire in the way he pushed your legs together.

You’d move against each other there, his reading chair creaking as you arched and relaxed your hips. Elliott would get his arm wrapped around your chest, hand firm on your shoulder, holding you close as he thrust up between your thighs.

There was so much more pleasure in it than you had ever anticipated. His lips on your neck. The pleading gasp of his exhalation. The tip of him moving back and forth at the apex of your thighs. The friction that turned into a glide as his excitement spurred yours. Until finally he’d shudder, lock his arm around you, pull you in tight as his hips arched up and hot wetness spilled against your skin.

“My love,” he’d gasp as he fell back into his chair. “How do you do this to me?”

Elliott

Elliott is a big spoon - especially in the tub. Cuddling plus bubbles equals a man in heaven. He likes it when you settle in between his legs, lay back on his chest, and let him run his fingers up and down your arm. Is he going to play with your hair? Yes, probably. Are you gonna flick bubbles at him? Absolutely. He’ll pretend to be annoyed, but don’t worry, he actually loves it.

He’s not so much of a spooner in bed, but he likes to lie on his back and have you cuddle up under his arm. It’s especially nice if you’ve been working hard that day. You can let yourself melt into him while he tells you about what he’s been writing. It’s nice to give him little kisses on his chest while he talks - it always throws him off his stride just enough to be adorable.

Harvey

This man is little spoon energy in a big spoon body. He defaults to big spoon, and it’s nice, y’know? You usually go to bed at the same time and it’s lovely when you can feel the tops of his thighs on the backs of yours as you fall asleep. He likes to wrap his arm around you, find your hand and give it a squeeze. He has trouble sleeping like that, though, so eventually you’ll have to break apart and get some rest.