killua's cabin (nsfw)

[devil_or_angle]

*killua heads straight back to his cabin after his encounter with kalluto in melody's field, anxious for some alone time. the flame ignited by their proximity is still burning bright inside him, clouding his head with smoky desire. he sighs as he slips into the room and slumps against the door, smoothing a hand down his shirt again as if it were still riding up, still feeling exposed and raw as a live wire.

he flops into the center of his spacious bed, sinking into the blankets with a groan. the weight of his hand feels good on his chest, feels better the lower he slides it. his toes curl as it slips beneath his shirt to touch his bare stomach, the strike of skin-against-skin still iron-hot in his mind. he can't help but wonder what would have happened if they hadn't stopped, back in the field -- if he'd been allowed to peel back more of kalluto's layers and feel him all against him, around him, inside him. the heat spreads from their point of contact to the furthest reaches of his body, pulsing under his palm.

he knows, with a guilty twinge that cramps his stomach muscles beneath his fingers, that he shouldn't be thinking this way about his brother, but has that ever stopped him when it came to his sister? he doesn't need to venture lower to find he's already hopelessly hard. he mutters a curse under his breath, indecisively thumbing the waistband of his shorts.*

fuck...

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[descendsanathema]

*In his mind, Kalluto was cursing up a storm, but his heart was trying not to cause too much of a ruckus - for Melody's sake - when he was looking around again for his cabin. He found it, quicker than he'd expected, and got straight into the shower.

He didn't sweat, but along with everything wonderful about the outside came the subtle layers of pollen and dirt and other things clinging to his skin, a distasteful sensation amplified by how much skin he'd been showing. As he took off his beachwear, a motion relegated to muscle memory appropriate to whatever he was wearing, he felt his underwear snag and tug at his body, slowed down as it was pulled down to his feet. Kalluto had paid this no mind, stepping out of his clothes with all the indolence of a child who'd grown up with servants, the one habit that annoyed the Troupe about him.

In the shower, he let the steaming hot water wash over his body, the first layer of filth coming off immediately.

fuck....

A coarse, husky voice played in his head, not unlike the internal monologue finding the cabin, but with a sultry tone that brought a flush to his cheeks. Before Kalluto could start applying soap to his body, he felt his toes crunch up a little, and a nondescript twitching which he noticed on looking down was between his legs. He was... partly engorged, and very sensitive to the unyielding water bulleting down from the shower rose. He stepped one foot apart, and leaned back, shoulders pinned back, his chest angled for the water to keep touching him.

He groaned, unconsciously shifting his body to account for the tilt from his toes curling, and from his gluteal muscles crunching and squeezing together with need.

Kalluto squeezed his shoulders together a little, his urge fighting his desire for modesty, the water so hot and hard against his nipples, which had become inexplicably sensitive, and a little swollen.*