(no subject)

[notmydiagnosis]

[ Crane can't figure out Moriarty and that bothers him--bothers him a lot. It's the reason why he's up when he shouldn't be, sleep schedule messed, and it's the fourth or fifth time he's paced his own room that he fires a text off to one Jim Moriarty. ]

My place when you're available.

[ Nothing else. He's at least figured that no matter the circumstances Moriarty will come at his own leisure. The best he can do is wait. ]

Comments

uh hello crane literally gets off on fear it is OH. KAY.

[notmydiagnosis]

[ Crane's breath hitches--not that he has a choice--and it's Moriarty's words, the way he's holding him--Crane's mind is jumbled nerves and odd connections and fear, pure fear, and he's never felt so elated, so turned on than this moment.

And still, all he can say is this: ]

Let go of me.

[ But don't, Moriarty, don't--Crane has never been so secretly thrilled in his entire life.

[spider]

[His response is a delighted chuckle into his clavicle, briefly sucking bruises into every manageable spot. They are little kisses that trace a map where he has claimed, tugging away fabric to expose inch after inch of warm flushed skin.

Eventually his interest shifts, now with distracting, sleazy eyes blinking up at him.]

Alright, if you say so.~

[Hush of words following in that Cheshire cat grin, plunging into a deeper insanity that calls for torment. Pressing himself up by the chest, he tauntingly causes his lower half to push forward, creating delicious friction. His voice is lilting, slightly raspy from a throat that hardly holds back a moan:]

If you change your mind, you could always beg.

[notmydiagnosis]

I'm not begging.

[ But he's simultaneously urging to get free, to buck his hips (which he does), and the lets out a grunt that's less of a moan and more of a growl, grabbing the other by the hair and pulling him upwards, eyes narrowed.

he wants nothing more than to smack that smirk off his face but he's never been so turned on in his entire life. ]

[spider]

[He would welcome that petty physical challenge, inwardly. Just as he tolerates a groan, missing his chance to deafen it while biting down on his own swollen, bloodied lower lip. Damn.

Meeting that look with a sniff of disdain, he lets his hands enthusiastically continue their process, tugging both thumbs under the waistband of trousers.]

Sweetheart, you're playing hard to get. [A beat. Ha. Ha.] Wellllll, we could always glare into each others' eyes? That's an entertaining way to get off.

[His voice drips with a sickly sweet tone. Hon-est-ly, he's looking a bit restless, squirming in this bullied hold to find contact.]

Oh wait, you prefer screamy, waily activity. That's intensely different.

[notmydiagnosis]

[ Crane's response is a buck of the hips, getting a little, tiny bit of leverage that makes him press up against Moriarty and actually sit up, both of them half-undressed, breathing. Panting. ]

You will scream for me, Jim.

[spider]

[Swallowing down a sound, he buries his face into Crane's shoulder. Sweat begins to bead his pale body, a drip streaming by a dark smirk. One swift movement and he's pulling him closer, moaning into his mouth, sucking on his tongue, drinking him in like a man lost in the desert. He pauses with a sharp inhale of excited breath, following in a chuckle.]

Kinky.

[Searching hands eventually find their way, ripping constraints to curl tapered fingers around his cock, running smooth strokes down its length. One withdraws to remove his boxers.]

We'll have to see. [—A smooth, entrancing voice—] I bet you ten quid you're screaming "Jimmy" first~