What an incredible feeling!
Chapter 01: Sword Blossom
Chapter 02: Assault Rave
Chapter 03: Soul Burst
Addam has lived, approximately, at least five if not ten years since his initial conscious experiences of arousal. He's pretty well figured out who he is and what he likes, and also what he doesn't, which is, he's thankful to note, not very much. His principal focus when meeting people who set his heart aflutter is just that: inclinations of affection and perhaps romance, as the disgraced royal gives and gives and gives. He doesn't usually have a problem keeping his power in check, so to speak.
But that's Addam. That's Addam separate from Minoth, the mighty and the, unsurprisingly, even more disciplined. He's no great beast, among powerful Blades, even since the experiment, but he still packs what thus causes Addam to. Even when Addam thinks himself more or less completely devoid of desire, as his occupation calls and has called for practical, sane interaction with people for a few years running, there comes Minoth to set him a-wagging again.
So lucky, does he count himself, that the plate of armor something like a codpiece that helps make up the bulk of his stance is accompanied by that golden waistcloth and dark green britches baggy and bolstered; many a layer of stalwart protection does the prince have between himself, himself, and the handsome cowboy. It's a gratifying feeling, really. His special secret, and his eagerness dwelling, because he's a strong young man and he knows - spectacular! - what he wants.
But there always does come a time, inevitably, when the pressure is so great that he cannot help but pull Minoth aside and whisper what's been done. Minoth smiles, of course. He's flattered, of course. (Well, maybe sometimes he's more flustered and muttering. Sometimes.) That's now not just one but two strong young men, growing finer and wiser and older, and sharing their delighted secrets of trust and lust alike. Once business has been concluded, he'll reach past the generous barriers and take sword in hand, grateful and excited for what's to come.
Addam and Minoth's relationship, for all its fraught rejection of reconciliation with the reality of their closeness and situation, can prove itself at times terribly lazy. Nothing results from it, and quite possibly never will; it subsists upon its low-hanging connection between old friends who've done that thing that isn't quite growing up together, but comes from rediscovering yourself in distanced hand to hand with another. One focused entirely on himself, the other focused entirely on others. Who should need to examine it closer? So long as something about it works.
When it comes to sex, lazy is easy. Lazy is exploring, testing, giving freely or holding back, lingering and eyeing and egging and loitering, and somehow - well, really, subsequently - in all of that very inherently sexy. Related back to basic animal instincts, humans like partners that don't seem to have to try very hard. It means they're already better equipped than all the rest, for comfortable survival.
And so, much as Addam would like to say that sex with him permits laziness, and much as Minoth would like to say that he is that self-possessed predator so desired in the wild, the attraction that boils just beneath the surface is just that little bit too excruciatingly tempting to allow them their emotionally constipated inhibitions and fantasies.
Eating, separate from simply ingesting, is an experience of absolution and care for the body, mind, soul.
Addam needs to be devoured. Minoth is pathetically hungry.
The Driver opens, offers, presents. The Eater...eats. Sloppily, darkly, striking not at weaknesses but at points of power where the most literally naked exposure so willingly lies.
In the wild, a predator is quick to mark territory and monopolize what it needs. Since Minoth needs all of Addam, he takes all that is presented, with hands and mouth, fingers and tongue; cheek upon thigh, chin bumping taint.
Whether it's cock or cunt, the object is to encompass or to be subsumed. Not to stay forever, but to engorge now.
Minoth can stand whimpering. Has learned to read, by now, the exact dips and swells of Addam's pants and sighs, and the difference between overwhelm and actual distress. It's whimpering, so it's not pleasant to listen to (Minoth is a very practical playwright, when one comes down to it), and if anyone tries to tell him different, he's dealing them a cross little minx of a stage direction from the scarry side.
But, still. He's negotiating with the meta-physical transaction of the human he favors one above all from calm to cataclysmic; it can't be anything but wonderful.
Those golden signifer eyes have been ripped wide, and in turn wrenched shut above the barely-bared wincing teeth, for minutes on end, now. Up and down heaves the all-important chest, as if the world is ending with a personal stop at Addam Origo's soul on its way to oblivion and he needs to wake up every cavern of his interior, even as the exterior sheens electric sweat, to be prepared.
How is it that they call post-orgasm the little death, when anyone on their way up to it's dying in a big way?
Ectasy, it is. Well and truly. While Minoth is a tremendous humanistic observer, sympathetic and engaged, he cannot deny that servicing Addam squares him quite easily into the capable, cool executor's role. His breathing, while intense, is not quite disheveled in its weight. His mouth, also, is spread broad, but his breaths and grins are all silent, keen.
And then Addam's hand, which has been clenched in his, bites. Minoth can practically feel the intention fall out of the grip even as it continues to hang on for dear little life. Every muscle rigid, every driving thought gone, gone, gone.
The waves of pleasure are palpable. Minoth finds himself humming little soothing noises as he strokes Addam's shoulder.
Oh, his prince is so, so happy. Another reason for the name: all other processes killed, and only this totality devotion proceeds to survive.