#mlpkarkat

Lavi play ruby bc red, john play sapphire bc blue ]]

I was actually thinking of having Lavi play. xD

BABY ; ; ]]

You're kissing him hard on the mouth as the backs of his knees hit the edge of the mattress, and they buckle, sending him falling back. His pale skin sprawls against the backdrop of your sheets, smooth and beautiful, and you only take a moment to take it all in, but in this dreamy stasis of your subconscious, it feels like a lifetime.

Your palms run over his lower torso, from his hips to his sides, feeling every angle as your eyes rake over him and your knees brace against the bed, lifting you onto it. His shirt was shucked at the door and now he's exposed to you, every detail, each and every line and curve of his muscles beneath the skin, every rough, defining scar, and all the delicate freckles scattered across his canvas -- freckles that you want to trace and memorize, with your hands, with your lips, to map them like stars in constellations, because you think him now to be much like a universe of his own, unfathomable, unknowable, but you are driven to want to know him. If he is a universe, then you want to make him your home, to chart and graph his alien planets and never, never leave, even when there is nothing left to find.

Your mouth follows the path your mind sets as you dive toward him, lips warm against his skin, cool, but heating up as you move up his body, kisses dotting his landscape and hands holding him firm but tender. You can both feel and hear his affected breathing as you reach his chest, and you're made aware that you're straddling him, draped over his body with no more than an inch of space between you and him anywhere.

You look up at him and hear your own breathing echo back in response to his; his hair already looks ruffled, cheeks already flushed, and you can only imagine what you look like, as your desire to touch him more and more just builds and builds.

You reach for his aviators and you're sure you've done this a dozen times by now but it never fails to take your breath away how he lets you, how he lets your hands take his sunglasses by the frames and lift them from his face, something you've never had the pleasure of doing when you're awake, but now, here, you can, you can and it feels wonderful.

You know you don't know what his eyes look like, no more than glances allowed to you in real life, but you imagine they're red. You know it's foolish, god is it foolish, no one has red eyes but you, but this is a dream and you will allow yourself one moment, one moment of fantastical indulgence. His eyes are red and they meet yours and you feel for him, your heart beats in time with his and you feel overwhelmed by just how much you feel.

You duck your head to hide, which you know you don't need to do, but you do, because he's looking at you, at your reddened face and your agape lips, not a glimpse spared for your hands as they set his shades carefully aside. He's giving you this look you don't believe anyone has ever given you before, and you hide, closing your eyes and pressing your lips to his sternum as you move back down, hands settling upon his skin once more and following your trail down. Every bump, every curve, you feel it all and you memorize it.

And soon you're at his belt; you're half off the bed again, but you barely notice, lips at his navel while your fingers deftly undo the buckle and clasp keeping you from this last part of him. His belt's gone in an instant, cast aside, and the sound of you unzipping his jeans is so loud in your ears, but you don't care.

You press your lips to his boxers, recognizing vaguely that they have some sort of distinctive pattern to them, but you'll think about that later, when the scent of him isn't at the forefront of your mind, and when you can't swear you can taste him through the fabric. Your tongue slides out to rest flat against the underside of that bulge in his boxers, and you feel a satisfied twitch at the corner of your lips as you hear his breath hitch.

You reach a hand inside and guide him out, where your tongue awaits to lap him up. Your motions start slow and small, savouring his first reactions -- not that you're any better, startling slightly as his fingers brush against your dark hair, and tangle within. He's tender, but wanting, and you hear your name in the breath he releases. You kiss the head, and then close your lips over it.

From there it's slow, steady, eyelids fluttering as you move down, an eye cracking open to watch him as you close your hand around his base, giving him small, limited strokes in time with the bobbing of your head. He raises his free hand to his lips and bites down on a knuckle, and you count this as an accomplishment. You flick your tongue just under the head, and relish the stuttered groan that escapes him.

He's slick and wet in your mouth, and you can taste the tang at the tip as you swirl the tip of your tongue around it and pull off. Your own arousal is straining at your pants, and you bite down on your bottom lip as you fumble to get them off, not nearly as graceful now -- though you suppose he needs a moment, too, as you look up and find him with his head tilted toward your ceiling, chest rising and falling with his harsh breaths.

You're proud of that. You're proud of what you can do to him.

You pull yourself up onto the bed again, and brace a hand on his chest, meeting his eyes to smile almost timidly at him as you reach around to line yourself up. It's a dream, so you don't need prep -- and you're glad. You're throbbing with enough desire as it is; if you had to wait one more moment....

But you don't have to wait. You can have him now. Now, later, whenever you want -- forever, if you wish, and you do wish. As you sink slowly down on him, clenching your jaw as you take him in, you're not sure what really triggers your pleased sigh once he's hilted -- the feeling of being so full of him, or the thought that you two might do this many, many more times in the future.

You lift your hips gently at first, a soft grunt slipping from your lips as you fall back down. You feel his hands at your knees, curled at his sides, and his hands stroke tenderly over your thighs in the kindest ways. You tilt your head back and don't worry about the noise as you lift again, only to drop and savour the sound you pull from his vocal chords, too.

Moving becomes easier, faster. Grunts turn into words, words turn into names -- yours on his lips, his on yours -- and as his fingers tighten their grasp on you, you enjoy the sting. Sweat sticks your hair to the back of your neck and your own fingers are claws at his chest, nail marks sure to leave traces of this on his skin for days. You drag your hands down his body and he groans loud with pleasured approval, hips bucking up into yours and making you grin before crying out, eyes rolling back.

Your legs begin to quiver, and you lose the composure needed to keep yourself upright; you fall forward against his chest, and your hands grab his sides for leverage as you rock back, deeper and faster at this angle than before.

You bite his collarbone and suck to hear the ragged moan as you ride him, and you're surprised when he gets you back, dragging his own nails down your back, but god if the pain doesn't just make you want it more as he clutches you to him. He's rocking with you, and every thrust slams against that spot, that spot that makes you grit your teeth and exhale hard, every inhale either his name or an expletive.

Your arousal ruts against his stomach as you move on him and he moves in you, and the stickiness is too much to bear, you're feeling hot, hotter than before; the pleasure builds and you haven't a thought in the world that isn't about him; he strikes that spot and you can barely remember your full name, the only sounds in your head your grunts and groans mixed with his, hard, hot breathing right by your ear as he brings you close, so close--

He turns his head and you turn yours and your lips meet somewhere in the middle, clumsy, whimpering as his tongue slides across yours; he tastes like apples and sugar and that spice you like in your coffee and as you shove your tongue hard into his mouth for more, a surge of heat shoots straight through you and you feel him jerk beneath you.

It hits you hard and fast and you jerk too as you spill over his stomach, gasping for air as you break from this kiss moaning his name; you're barely conscious of him replying with yours and a stutter. Aftershocks rock you both as your rhythm stumbles to a stop, and you're hyperaware of his breath against your ear, hot and unsteady. Your whole body is on fire and suddenly you're tired, shaking slightly as your fingers rise and run gingerly through his hair.

There's a long moment of silence where nothing is said at all. It's not uncomfortable. It's just the two of you, breathing each other in, enjoying the feel of each other's skin, taking in the body heat.

"Hey Kankan...?" he murmurs after a moment, and you realize you're drifting off, head tucked between his neck and shoulder.

"Yes, Dave...?" you whisper a fond reply, and you can hear his smile pass your own in the air.

"I really love you," he says, and it's probably the dozenth time that he's said that exact thing, but it still causes your heart to swell, still fills you with a warmth and a happiness to which nothing else could ever compare. He sounds like such a schoolboy, you think, and you love it with all your heart. Him. You love him.

"Yes, Dave," is all you manage to murmur, before you're waking up, from this dream you've had so many times.

Your body tingles when you awake. You still feel the warmth, the stickiness, and before you open your eyes, you could almost imagine that when your fingers stretched and curled, you'd feel the soft skin of another beneath them.

You awake, you breathe cool air, and you are alone, but you feel him in your memory, clear as day.

WHAT’S WRONG?

Its taking forever to load things! It took me half an hour just to get my dash loaded. ):<

I AM 9,000 PERCENT OKAY WITH YOU BEING GAY. DO I NEED TO SING THE FUCKING GAY SONG.

> Remain calm. That is the key part in all this. Remain calm; unmoved, even. Yes. Good.

> Take a deep breath. Type slowly. Maintain appearances. 

Thank y9u f9r the c9ffee and the CD, Dave.

69th were very th9ughtful.