Avery
Tipple-Tossing Tatterdemalion
An area worked long enough by Oliver's nipping would produce bruising. Bishop's lace in blood pointillism. Edmund would have cherished each as he did any of Oliver's affections, but, though he wanted them, such wasn't the means he wanted to earn them by. Jarring, acute pain assuaged with a kiss, something to make him flinch and then sigh, oscillating pain and pleasure. He wanted Oliver to bite. But that diffident, timid look in his eyes...
Edmund was about to dismiss the idea all together and suggest they sleep when suddenly his abdomen quivered, hips jerking subtly beneath Oliver's weight. Edmund instantly grabbed his hands, stopping them from their delicate caress along his side and hip.
That tickled.
Funny how the opposites of feather-touch and soft violence could both make him writhe. Edmund hoped Oliver interpreted his actions as something else. Insistence, impatience, a tacit plea to stay. Anything but the truth that Edmund was ticklish. Almost apologetically, he released Oliver's hands.
"Even if you managed to get me bleeding, we wouldn't need to treat a bite." Edmund assured in placation, before joking. "It may be difficult to explain what happened to the sheets though." He rubbed Oliver's shoulder, comforting. It wasn't his intent to make Oliver uneasy. A bruise was more superficial and transient than a scar, and Edmund had left some on Oliver before, so it didn't feel like too much of a request when he'd asked. Though maybe it was. Maybe it was something better left to learn in the heat of passion than during these slow, teasing affections.
"You give me plenty without pain, Oliver." Edmund assured, propping himself up on an elbow. "You know that, right?"
Edmund was about to dismiss the idea all together and suggest they sleep when suddenly his abdomen quivered, hips jerking subtly beneath Oliver's weight. Edmund instantly grabbed his hands, stopping them from their delicate caress along his side and hip.
That tickled.
Funny how the opposites of feather-touch and soft violence could both make him writhe. Edmund hoped Oliver interpreted his actions as something else. Insistence, impatience, a tacit plea to stay. Anything but the truth that Edmund was ticklish. Almost apologetically, he released Oliver's hands.
"Even if you managed to get me bleeding, we wouldn't need to treat a bite." Edmund assured in placation, before joking. "It may be difficult to explain what happened to the sheets though." He rubbed Oliver's shoulder, comforting. It wasn't his intent to make Oliver uneasy. A bruise was more superficial and transient than a scar, and Edmund had left some on Oliver before, so it didn't feel like too much of a request when he'd asked. Though maybe it was. Maybe it was something better left to learn in the heat of passion than during these slow, teasing affections.
"You give me plenty without pain, Oliver." Edmund assured, propping himself up on an elbow. "You know that, right?"