ralliesprotests | Ainmhian IC Inbox

“I hope so.” Rowan agrees, quickly, smiling at that kiss. Treating them with such sweetness is a surefire way to their heart. They’re still getting used to dealing with anything more than picking up with someone at a club and heading home with them for a one off. Getting to know people first, and any sort of tenderness, still feels strange, dangerous and forbidden.

But what else can they do here? They can’t disappear into the crowd like they can at home, and they enjoy Edgar’s company. Why not enjoy it a little more?

“Let’s see where this leads us, then?” They offer, before leaning in for an encouraging kiss.

He meets them halfway, bringing one hand up to lightly cup their cheek.

And he'll maybe try to shift a little closer on the bed, just enough so that his hip and leg are brushing against theirs.

Rowan doesn't need any encouragement to curl in closer, pressing their leg against Edgar's. Their hand cups his head, fingers lazily playing with his hair as they lap at his lips, seeking to deepen the kiss.

His eyes half-close at the feel of Rowan's fingers in his hair, and he makes a small contented noise against their mouth even as he opens his, entirely willing to let the kiss deepen.

(A small part of his mind is marveling at how different it feels, having someone play with his hair when his hair's been washed.)

Eagerly taking in the invitation, Rowan invades Edgar's mouth, exploring once again. It's good to be this closer and exciting to have the chance to have the whole of Edgar's body before them to map out and explore. While Rowan has been discovering the fun of repeat visits, there's familiarity in the unfamiliarity of a new partner to play with.

Their other hand moves to rest on Edgar's hip, pushing his shirt up just enough that they can slip their fingers underneath, just seeking out that close contact. And the hand in his hair continues to play gently, absentmindedly, most of Rowan's concentration on the kiss.

Abruptly even this isn't enough contact; he wants to feel more of Rowan against him.

He pulls his mouth free just long enough to half-whisper "-- here, can you shift up a bit --" and reaches around to Rowan's far side, trying to nudge them to slide into his lap. Sideways or straddle, whichever they like so long as he can properly get his arms around them.

Rowan doesn't need to be asked twice. They break away briefly to shift easily into Edgar's lap, wrapping their slim legs around his waist and pressing in close.

"Better?" They ask with a wide grin, as they rest one hand lightly on his chest, the other curling over his shoulder, their fingers tracing down his spine as they press their chest to Edgar's.

"Mmm," he hums, eyes closing blissfully for a moment as he wraps his arms around their slender frame, "much better."

He leans in to kiss, not Rowan's lips this time, but the side of their neck.

Relaxing their shoulders and arching their neck, Rowan both gives Edgar more access and allows themself to curl around him and place kisses over the curve of his ear, then nip there lightly. They take advantage of their position to roll their hips lightly, rocking their body against his as the hand on his back shifts again, moving back around him so they can continue all the way down his spine, to the bottom of his shirt, and then start to work their way back up, letting the material bunch around their hand. From their lips comes a content little sigh, as they enjoy the attention to their neck.

“Just as well, ‘cos this is the kind of spot I won’t give up in a hurry.”

Edgar makes a low noise somewhere between a hum and a purr as Rowan rocks their hips against his; they can probably feel him stir underneath them.

"'S all yours," he murmurs, arching his back a little as they start tugging his shirt up. "Reserved special."

That heat underneath them doesn’t dissuade Rowan at all, quite the opposite. They shift slightly, lining themself up better so they’re not digging anything bony into Edgar, then rock again, slowly, deliberately.

And since there’s no complains about Rowan’s Hand on his back they pull his shirt up further still, their other hand moving round to explore the exposed skin of his back. Warm fingers trail over his shoulders and across the small of his back, mapping out, enjoying the skin contact, as they nibble on his ear.

“Do I need to put a mark on it?” They ask, eyes flashing eagerly, unseen.

He breathes out, shutting his eyes again for a moment to luxuriate in the feel of warm hands on his back, skin on skin. That deliberate rocking motion is if anything even nicer, and he rolls his own hips upward to meet it.

And then that question goes right down his spine and sends heat zinging through him, and he gives a tiny laugh that's more a combination of startlement and arousal than real amusement.

"Would you like to?"

"You know I would." Rowan curves away from Edgar's ear to smirk at him this time, punctuating the words with yet another rock of their body against his. They can imagine it all too easily, leaving love bites on Edgar's thighs, and then perhaps also putting their mouth to something in between them... A shiver runs down their back and they close their eyes for a moment, hands pausing to ball into Edgar's back as arousal floods them.

But after a moment they return to their soft touches, eyes opening again, but smirk not fading. And since they've had to lean away to pull away to look at Edgar, there's now space for their hands to map round to his chest, starting low near his belly, but slowly trailing up. "Maybe lay claim to some other parts of you while I'm there."

"Sure," says Edgar, laughter and breathlessness underlying his voice. "Big red sign. No Trespassing, Property Of Rowan ..."

He trails off in a low hum of enjoyment, leaning into their hands.

"Just Rowan, or should there be more to that?"

Rowan laughs as well, light and easy as the touches with which they continue to explore Edgar's body under his shirt. "Sure, I think I still have a couple of stickers left over from yesterday. I took spares in case Max and Lucas got away. It's an exclusive club, you know."

They place a couple of kisses along Edgar's jaw, just playful, enjoying the contact. "My surname's Lewis? I just figure it ain't really useful here where a load of people don't even have one anyway." It's a shame they can't tell Edgar their deed name, they feel like he might appreciate it of all the people here - probably even more than Silent and Ren. But Rallies-Protests, Silent-Death and Rages-Against-The-Odds are all suspiciously similar for all their differences, and they don't want any more lines drawn between them than necessary.

"Fuck," and Edgar dissolves into sudden laughter, "I forgot about the fuckin stickers --"

He calms a little as Rowan keeps talking, and leans to return a few of those light kisses. "Makes sense, yeah. I haven't got one. Lewis, though, that's kind of pretty."

One of his hands slides down a little on Rowan's back, fingers curling lightly under the hem of their shirt. Seems likely they won't mind, but he'll wait for just a moment to see if there's any objection before he returns touch for touch.

That laughter has Rowan gazing at Edgar with a bright smile and easy affection. How have they been lucky enough to find another person who'll laugh with them in moments like this? They've said it before, and they'll say it again: anyone who can laugh during sex is twice as attractive as anyone else.

And he's a flatterer too, even though they had no choice in either of their names. "Prettier than the part of London it comes from." They chuckle. "Not that me part's that pretty, but it's mine, y'know?"

There's absolutely no objection to Edgar's exploring hands - instead Rowan shifts a little, grinding against him again, yes, but also moving off more of the long hem so he has more space. Their own hands have reached Edgar's abs, watching his reaction as they brush soft fingers lightly over them.

That encouraging motion is all he needs to slide both hands under Rowan's shirt and start exploring in turn up their back, palms and fingers smoothing over the skin, feeling the contours of muscle and bone underneath.

When Rowan's fingers brush his abs, he draws in a soft breath and lets his head fall back, eyes half-closing.

The skin on Rowan's back is as smooth as their hands, unblemished or marked. There's a surprising amount of muscle for such a slim frame: not one ounce of spare fat, but still covered enough to stop them from being too bony. They take a sharp breath as Edgar's hands explore, and a soft noise whenever he trails higher up, between his shoulders.

But they don't stop their own discoveries either, and with Edgar's head tipped back like that, they can't resist leaning in to kiss down his throat, placing an open mouthed kiss over the base of it, tasting his skin. Their hands wander further still, dancing over his pecs now, the pad of one thumb brushing over a nipple.

That area between the shoulderblades seems like it might be a sweet spot. Edgar flattens his palm against the skin there and rubs in a slow circle, then switches to fingernails, scratching gently.

At the kiss on his throat he exhales slowly, arching his back to lean up into it -- and then leaning harder, with a tiny grunt, when that thumb brushes his nipple. "Mmh ... yeah," he whispers, "do that again?"

Edgar’s hand on their back feels so good, but not as good as his fingernails gently scraping over Rowan’s skin. They shiver in his arms, a soft groan passing their lips as they eagerly give into Edgar’s wish. They circle his nipple before brushing over it again, this time with a touch more pressure - still a light touch, but less exploratory and more playful.

And then they lean back suddenly, hands dropping to the hem of Edgar’s shirt and halting there with it bunched up in their hands. “Can I?” They ask, clearly wanting to remove it, but holding back to ask permission first.

"Yeah," he breathes, smiling, and plucks at their own shirt. "Can I --?"

"Course!" Rowan noses against Edgar's cheek and kisses him there softly as they pull his shirt off first, pulling it off and tossing it to one side. When they sit back they trail their hand along his chest, admiring him as they do.

Then they raise their own arms to help Edgar remove their own shirt. Underneath they're just as slender as touch suggested, but there's a hint of a curve on their chest, a touch of softness on their otherwise firm form. They do watch him as they're revealed, though, hoping that he appreciates the unusual lines of their body, the feminine curve of their waist balanced out by the straight lines of their hips.

Edgar's been here long enough that his starvation-diet scrawniness has started to fill out a little, and all the old bruises have faded to yellow and the cuts to near-invisible lines. There's still next to no softness on him, all wiry muscle over bone.

And oh, he very much appreciates the much more pleasant sight Rowan presents. Yes, it's unusual, subtle curves turning into straighter lines, not a boy's body and not a girl's -- but the unexpectedness doesn't look wrong to him, it looks exactly right. If he had to explain the harmoniousness of it, he'd have to say something like: it fits with itself, is what, and with the person who lives in it. It's Rowan.

"Beautiful," he breathes, not quite meaning to, and runs a hand over Rowan's shoulder.

Edgar's flattery has Rowan fluttering their eyelashes, leaning into his hand in pleasure. There are many ways to their heart, but appreciating their body for what it is will get you far. Turning their head, they place a surprisingly tender kiss to the back of Edgar's hand.

"You're looking good too." They praise, running their hands up Edgar's chest again, this time following their progress. It's so good to see a bit of weight on his bones, when he first arrived Rowan would have been worried that there'd be nothing of him under his clothes. With that thought in mind, they lean forward to kiss his collar bone, tracing the length of it with their lips, and then grazing their teeth lightly over his shoulder.

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