Edward is panting, now, thick, wet gasps that fill the room with their wantonness. Alfons bends over his lover, fingers seeking out the erogenous areas of his body, lips mimicking. A splash of heat as he laps at one nipple. He spreads his palm flat against the hard muscles of Ed's stomach, feeling them tense, skin damp with sweat. It's almost surprising, how little effort it takes to slide his hand down, digits curling reverently around Edward's cock.
A moan, tainted with a desperate note, strangles its way out of Edward's throat and he jerks his hips as best he can, whimpering when the limited movement brings him no relief. "Alfons..." He breaks off; can't even breathe. Not when Alfons is touching him like that.
"Patience," Alfons whispers, pulling away from Edward's chest to look at Edward fondly, "Is a virtue."
He reaches up with his free hand, pushing golden strands back away from the older boy's face, tucking the tresses behind his ears.
Fingers flex, rope fibers strained, but stubborn, hold their prey, and Edward is helpless. Good. Alfons smirks, lips dragging down the length of the older boy's torso, saliva trailing like the path of a snail across the pale skin. And then, a tongue, lapping at scorching flesh with broad, wet strokes.
It is a mess of limbs and fingers all moving, twining, and Alfons loves the way the moans fill the room, sweet symphony to celebrate the seasons. He laughs, when Edward, need and breathless, gathers enough wits to snap at him, tell him to get on with it or get off. Ah, typical Edward, brash and zealous in everything he does. With him, it is all or nothing.
Alfons smirks, pulls away with his mouth, and runs a single thump over the head of Edward's cock before abandoning the boy entirely. He ducks over the side of the bed, mindless to Edward's protests and digs around amongst the dust and occasional dirty sock until he finds the small bottle of lubricant tucked underneath the bed.
Edward kicks, impatiently, spreads his legs as wide as he can when Alfons brushes a finger across his inner thighs. He applies kisses to Edward's collarbone; teeth employed, when need be and oil to all the right places, care taken to make sure nothing will tear or hurt, and then, heat and pressure and sex is never, never, never a romantic thing.
It is sloppy and fast. Edward encourages him to go faster, faster damnit , and his hips are reluctant to do anything but obey the older boy's wishes. His hand ensures that Edward's own erection gets proper attention and his breath is screaming in his lungs; belligerent injustices paid to his abused organs and Alfons doesn't care because his cock doesn't care. He can't breathe, can't stop, and Edward is spent, dripping and softening in Alfons' hand; and he can't bring himself to care about the semen spread and splattered across Ed's chest, as well as his own.
Thrusting is the only reality of the world. As long as there is motion - maddening, nerves howling - there is life, there is sense; and if it stops, Alfons is sure he will die because there is something there, some cosmic point he needs to reach before his hips can rest without his entire body imploding.
When he finally does stop thrusting, collapses, panting across Edward, Alfons is not sure whether he has reached that point or if his body has simply disintegrated into a million infinitesimal particles. He feels wrung out, exhausted, can't even bring himself to care that Edward is squirming and protesting beneath him. He dozes for an undetermined span of time before he's jostled awake again, by both a flailing leg and a sharp voice barking in his ears.
"Alfons," Edward is howling, irritated and kicking at him as best he's able. The boy is still tied, helpless to move away from the boy on top of him. Alfons blinks, pushing himself up and off the boy's chest, frowning at the sticky residue that has just about dried on both their torsos.
He yawns, still tired, and thinks he has not been allowed to sleep nearly as long as he'd have liked to, but Edward is grousing, and still kicking him.
"Get off, damnit," the smaller boy admonishes, "you're still in me."
"Oh!" Alfons exclaims. No wonder. Edward can't be anything but uncomfortable, he knows. The boy will be sore later; moreso because he does not bottom often. Sheepishly, he offers an apologetic kiss before slowly extracting himself from his partner. Edward hisses a bit, when Alfons first moves, but grumbles at him to I get a move on, damnit/I when the younger boy hesitates.
"Now untie me," he demands, when his first complaint has been taken care of. He squirms again, and Alfons smiles, crawls up the bed, and fumbles with the knot, made stubborn by constant strain.
It takes a moment, but the bindings finally fall free and the older boy draws the limb to his chest, flexing his wrist experimentally.
Bah. Long time, no update, I know. But eurgh. My inspiration is flagging for this. I have no idea where to go with it from here. Forgive the shortness and whatnot. /