middaeg | what is the sesame street number of the day??

This must be some sort of vampire thing. That's the only explanation Makoto can think of, and it must be the same for Eren too. The breathy tone to his voice, the shimmering scales, the head bob... the flick of his tongue. Makoto watches Eren's face tenatively, his mind still processing the situation, his dick still pressing into his leg uncomfortably.

"But how?" he asks, at a bit of a loss. "How - how would we, I mean? You're..."

A dragon. And much bigger than Makoto is. It sounds - it sounds kinda painful, to put it bluntly. He feels his face flush, assisted by his fresh meal, at the thought. He's certain he isn't ready for that yet, it being too great a leap into the unknown. That isn't making him any less aroused, unfortunately.

"What if..." he begins slowly. Keeping his gaze averted for now, he idly toys with the pull string on his hood. "Maybe ... something simple. And easy."

He’s—? Eren’s tilted head and dipping gaze is leveled back at the other to finish, but he knows, for a fact now. That’s not where they’re going. At least not at this moment. This is also getting . . . Mildly planned, Eren felt. Too many plans lead to too many expectations, or stumbles to follow through.

He would not have to leap if he were guided. He would not have to be alone, but accompanied. Eren inhales, exhales soft and crisp, oddly so, compared to their summer air and boiling flesh— that’s just how hot he felt. His fingers coil around the Makoto’s shoulder, gentle in the way he wishes to turn him. Just enough to look each other in the eye, to see the truth in them.

“Do what you want to do,” he says, not aggressively, but encouraging. There was nothing here to force him, or oblige him, there wasn't even readiness. “Don’t think too much on it—.”

He’s closer, both their faces are, and naturally the beat in his chest spikes, the smell of the vampire’s breath tickles his senses, his tongue that flicks once more— Eren tilts, the air still, and his eyes a little more focused on watching the color to his cheeks, lips and more. “It’s how the unexpected works,” he murmurs, and if Makoto allows it, something easier to swallow comes near: a free hand, raised to prop under the other’s chin, and lead him on.

Not into a complete kiss, but a brush— a brush for him to get a feeling.

Again, to his own mild surprise, the hand on his shoulder and the sound of his breath, even the turn of his body towards Eren, none of it bothered him the way he'd expect. What does he want to do? He has no idea. He wants something, though, and... well, maybe the simplest answer in this moment is that he wants Eren. As strange as it is.

Makoto doesn't flinch away from the gentle push upwards of his chin. The movement is obvious in its intention, so his lips meet Eren's willingly. They don't feel like a human's lips, but they don't feel bad, either. Just the opposite. His tired heart starts to beat faster and he feels another surge of arousal go down his spine and into his pelvis.

Something simple, something easy. What he wants to do, even if this is unexpected. He thinks he can manage that, especially if Eren is here to help him the same way he'd let him feed. After a moment of hesitation, Makoto kisses him again, pressing his lips more intently this time. The scent of carbon dioxide exiting his nose smells wonderful to him, pinging his vampire senses all over again as a sign of a blood source being near.

Without missing a beat, he draws both hands up to hold Eren's cheeks. Don't pull away, this is what he wants. Or it's a start, at least.

And that’s how you start.

Experimentation is right up the dragon’s alley— not one partner, not one lover was the same, and Eren is intent in letting any heightened sense he had ride high and map out the vampire’s moves. If he’s subtle, if he’s shy, if he’s rough. Taste was the strongest for him, and even the firmest press makes his mouth shift. He’s excited to go further, his pulse races in anticipation to, though he swallows back with patience and tentatively (though bold), makes the next move: a head tilt, sideways so their noses press into their cheeks, and an adjustment to his lips, enough to slowlycoax them open for every bit of breath wanted.

His scales are a fiery red underneath the palm that holds his face, and with a grip against Makoto’s knee, he persuades him, gently, to lower his leg from what he hides. Relax. He’s safe here. No one’s judging his hard on, or the means to satisfy it. And, well. A treat for a vampire are Eren’s teeth. Plenty of points, too much to count, and with a purposeful slick of his own tongue against them, the taste of his blood comes between the sealed pair once again.

Maybe Makoto is getting the unspoken message, and maybe he's simply getting caught up in what's happening, and maybe both, but he responds to Eren's escalation of the kiss without any hesitation. Their lips are already moist by the time a new, unexpected jolt goes through his body - blood - and he hums a soft moan through his nose, his head reeling from the combined sensations.

He'd already satisfied his craving, of course, so it isn't gratifying in the same way as before. It does strike him as immensely erotic. Still holding Eren's face, he presses his lips hard against his and pushes his tongue past them to let the flavor into his mouth. There are sharp teeth; Makoto only then realizes he'd cut his tongue on purpose. For him.

The kiss, the blood, his rising level of comfort... it's making his cock start to throb, the pressure on it quickly becoming uncomfortable. After another moment, his knee drops. Makoto is okay with this, he wants this. He wants it more the longer it goes on. Craning his neck to keep the kiss from breaking, he pulls his hands away and down to his cloak, throwing the cloak to the side and off his body so he can begin to unbuckle his belt.

As much as Makoto drinks blood, Eren’s drinks his moans— so sweet and riling, sound rouses the dragon’s ears into an expressive point, inhaling sharply through flared nostrils that show him what he likes. Sound, he adores sound.

The exchange of blood isn’t as tantalizing as witch blood. It doesn’t give him that rush that melts him into a pool of his ecstasy, but the action is what makes it rise to an equal level of desire. Makoto dips back, and Eren tips forward, and itch in his throat that urges him as a grunt, a drum rolling growl that’s soft and willing to meld with the escalation like water on any surface would.

He helps his partner sit back and adjust, getting to know the line of the body that calls him and wants him. Eren hovers over him, onto him, on his knees and smacking their mouths together in heat that makes him breathless, bloody but far from stopping. The dragon feels his neck with his palm, down his hips over fabric— until they settle right in between, where skin may flash just enough for his fingers to slip under the hem of his shirt and let the vampire undo himself.

His other hand holds the other’s head, full of hair and tangled deep, the points of his talons dangerous but knowing.

Makoto's abdomen flinches and sucks in from the sensation of Eren's ridged fingers on his stomach. It takes a moment for his mind to identify what it is, but once it does, he arches his back into Eren's touch encouragingly. He wants to touch him back, but he wants to be free from his uncomfortable pants just a little bit more. The metal of his belt buckle clicks as he pulls it undone, and with impatient hands, he finally gets his pants open and yanks them down to his thighs, pushing his belt and boxers along with it.

He's exposed. He can feel the breeze on his dick. They're on a roof, sure, but could anyone see them up here? Would anybody even dare to interrupt Eren at a time like this either way? Eren's huffed breath and soft growls of enjoyment encourage him to be bold - he places a hand on the dragon claw on his stomach, encouraging it downwards. His other arm hooks around the back of Eren's neck, his palm coming to rest flat on his back between his shoulder blades.

A sloppy mix of blood and saliva is starting to collect at the corners of his mouth, threatening to drip down his cheeks. The dragon's lips are sopping, too. After loudly swallowing what's already in his mouth, Makoto breaks the kiss, gasping, to lick his lips clean. Not that they get very clean - his face is already smudged with blood from feeding earlier.

Something simple, he said, and here Eren had wondered, as split of a moment it was, if a kiss would be the limit for him. The sky’s the limit, after all— hunger and feral lust to deep in their monster cores gives a brusque push. One that Eren is far more used to hearing.

Smells, smells and more smells rouse his senses the more exposure is had. The breeze chills and makes the heat delightful, enough to prickle his scales and force them to bump and rise, not unlike how skin would. They break to breathe, and the dragon gasps for his air, huffs for it without leaving the other’s face too far apart. If a moment was needed, they’d have it; Eren flicks, tastes and explores the corners of the vampire’s lips, the contour of his jaw and neck, the fleetingness and tickle of his tongue hot and wet when given more pressure.

He explores him, descending hand snagging the encouragement given without second thoughts. Makoto’s cock was hot, new and begging through its thickness for friction that satiates only one way. He’s careful with his talons, and first uses his palm. Safety first. He drives into him in a downwards motion, than pulling up slightly to allow a hook just under his base, cooly letting his voice drip near his ear:

“There’s mine,” he says, hands tied and not exactly willing to stop his progression. Team work and curiosity could go hand in hand.

Despite what's happening, Makoto is mostly quiet. He huffs a hungry sigh out of his mouth when Eren's tongue laps across his jawline and neck, a reaction to the pleasant chill that goes down his spine. But he doesn't moan or groan or say anything else - he's never been one for theatrics, even if he had the confidence for it right now. What he's focused on is all these sensations threatening to overload his mind, from the blood to the tongue to the scales and his voice and his palm...

His palm. It's perfect. Makoto won't know what to attribute it to exactly until later, but the setae on Eren's palm are incredible, sticky and firm and smooth and textured at the same time. As Eren pleasures him, he relaxes back against the rooftop and hugs him closer with the arm draped over his back. He might not be moaning, but his breathing is changing.

Makoto wants to return the gesture, although it still strikes him as scary in the way the unknown is scary, but as he reaches out with his other hand blindly from underneath Eren's huge body, his hand can't find wherever his cock is. Is he still clothed, he wonders in the back of his mind, before getting lost in the sensations again. The young man is not going to last very long like this.

It’s enough. The rasp in his breathing, how it hitches and drops. Close to his ear as he adjusts to their positioning, with Eren situated slightly sideways, and propped up enough to take the control needed. One leg is up, spread even, pants still on but becoming excruciating— enough that his breath is hard, as hard as he was, until he can’t help it, and pops a button. He pulls at it carelessly, wanting it gone and less restraining at the very least.

The rest he can get lost with, and it didn’t matter how. The taste Makoto gives off is divine, and with every stroke of his cock, fingers twirling loosely around his shaft, palm spreading over his head, an occasional downwards pull or even a wander to the apex of his thighs— whatever was more sensitive, whatever coaxed the best reaction, he was attentive to it.

Eren keeps the movement steady, unconstrained, and coaxing out dribbles of pre-cum if he so could. Just to make sure, to see if he did, the dragon nudges himself just a little lower, eyes on him— and caressing from bottom to top in the slowest, tantalizing way with just the right pressure.

The shift of Eren's body is enough to break Makoto's trance and help stave off his orgasm for a little longer, despite the pre-cum rapidly collecting at his tip. He has to unwind his arm from Eren's back to allow him to lean to the side, but that's perfect - he reaches over with both hands and helps Eren undo the rest of the buttons. It's crazy - he knows this is crazy, doing this with Eren, as much as he's loving it - but it's unexpectedly easy for him to shove both of his hands past the waist of Eren's pants to pull out his cock.

"Not yet," he breathes, glancing helplessly down at Eren's hand but not wanting this to be over just yet. One reason, not the least of them, being that he's not entirely sure what to do with Eren's cock now that he's got his hands on it - it feels massive in his palms, intimidatingly so, although maybe it just seems that way in the heat of this moment, with the huge man half-towering over him. If he came now, it would just be him, tired and ready to sleep, with a clearly very horny dragon man on top of him.

He closes one of his hands around Eren's head, the slit pressing into the center of his palm, and he uses his fingers to stroke beneath the ridge. His other hand squeezes just beneath the other, waiting to see how the other man reacts.

His body tremors from the start of the touch to the stroke up, subtly and displaying a show all at once— slow and tantalizing, Eren’s breathing hits a raggedy point, earlier becoming oddly rhythmed and now only more erratic, superficial and raspy. His eyes close, his brows pinch, and outwardly he sighs in delectation.

Makoto’s even managed to get him to stop his movements, if only for a moment to become one with it, focus on it. The vampire’s hand was small, but they convinced him of his eagerness— his pants are down his hips before he even wants to think of pants. His cock, erect and needing was being soothed of its ache, and all the while Eren pulls his scents to his tongue, rolls his head against the other’s face, his side, his neck. He’s rubbing himself with certain affection and joy to take in who he’s with, soon beginning to match Makoto’s next downwards slide.

He waits for him, eyes lifting open to watch his eyes, have that contact, and follow with the slip of his fingers when Makoto is ready to. Teasing the slit of his head, spreading what had dripped of his pre-cum, and . . . Maybe shifting his pelvis just a bit closer to his friend’s.

Makoto has to close his eyes a few times as Eren nuzzles him, his hair threatening to get in his eyes, and through his own pleasure he huffs out a chuckle. Is he - is he being cuddly? The movements sure aren't threatening, and they aren't particularly sexual so much as... intimate.

When their eyes meet, Makoto is smiling, his cheeks a healthy pink and his breathing labored and his kind eyes heavy with indulgence. This is wonderful, he thinks to himself, his worries a moment earlier about how to handle Eren fizzling away. This big scary dragon guy might just be a big softie.

Moving the hand curled around his shaft in sync with his partner's, he teases the soft flesh under his glans with his thumb. "I'm still close," he breathes. "Is it alright?"

If you’re going to chuckle, you know you’ll make him do something similar. Not so much chuckle in return, but there are still the beginnings of a smile tempting his lips, and any breathless hahs tickling the tip of his scouring tongue to the hotness of flushed skin.

Yes, the big, scary dragon man was a social thing, even more so affectionate with his potential mates— he knows where he can be rough and where he should tug his self control into play. The vampire’s scent was crazy enjoyable, as was his energy, as was everything now. It was bliss, and Eren was proud, confident to have gotten here with him, angling his hips into the other’s hand.

“You’re great,” he breathes out, making the distinction clear that the act wasn’t the only thing he’s paying attention to. It might . . . No, it will be messy, but Eren doesn’t truly care. If anything— he wants the scent and taste all over him, cradling the other’s balls with a roll of his thumb, then catches the rest of his member through a thick caress that’s loose enough to twist his palm across, and tight enough to tie every hint of pleasure his hand alone could give. “Want to go over the edge?”

His reply is delayed by the tantalizing texture of Eren's palm. His eyes shut for a moment, and without thinking about it, a subdued groan escapes from his throat. There's no doubt that he's close; that familiar sensation is starting to build in his pelvis. If he's lucky, he has a few seconds left.

"Yeah," he says when his eyes open, eyelids heavy and lips parted. Makoto knows Eren can't be very close himself, but he's trusting the dragon to have a plan in mind - something, he'd guess, having to do with those hips that keep twitching in his hands. He does his best to keep his grip around Eren's cock firm, but his attention starts to slip.

The pressure. It felt amazing. His heart pumps blood and blood that doesn't belong to him through his veins, into his cock. "Yes," he mutters, louder this time, and his hips buck as he feels it start to rush towards him. With another moan, he leans up to press his face into Eren's shoulder, wanting both the intimacy and the private as he comes sticky and hot onto his hands and his own stomach.

The hot wetness bursting between them and onto Eren’s exposed belly was only a hint of the next turn to take. With Makoto’s face into his shoulder, Eren turns his own to push his nose into the side of his flushed face, drink his cries and savor the mess drenching in and out of his hand. Just the scent, the taste, the sweat that collects around his hair and gives him more more more of what Makoto is made of— a play of sensory excites him so much, that he feels the pressure of climax reaching a build too grand to stop.

The dragon’s hand slows, but doesn’t cease. He’ll send the other’s body and mind into a damn spin, fingers lathering, thumbing and teasing every and any drop left from his cock without retarding his own release. His hips would need aid to the vampire’s failing limbs, and help he does— taking Makoto’s trembling hands to guide him along a firm grip, Eren’s messy hand over his to pump through his dose of ecstasy, fast.

With the way he trembles, the way he nips and bites for the other’s neck between choked moans, he’s going to release at any moment, wetting dry lips and exposing his side, whispering a strained and final fuck, as he shudders madly.

While Makoto's hands are still trembling from his own orgasm, he feels a second spurt of something hot and wet splash onto his stomach and his wrists. He knows what it is, and it's an unexpected surprise - in the good way. Gasping and humming suppressed moans against Eren's shoulder, he follows his lead and continues to stroke and knead him even after his climax starts to pass. Cum drips across his knuckles and onto Eren's hands.

Makoto slumps back down against the roof, laying flat on his back and gasping to catch his breath. His hands slow down, not wanting this to pass into the realm of uncomfortable overstimulation. Similarly, a few more pearls of cum ooze from his tip while Eren milks him before finally stopping.

There's... a lot of cum right now. From both of them, but especially from the big-cocked horny dragon. Makoto carefully unwraps his fingers and pulls his hands away, but only a few inches. He doesn't really have anywhere to put them right now, and he's too busy soaking in the afterglow to care that much anyway.

They are indeed, messy. Stimulation ends at just the right time, right between that little skip of time where you want more of it and going to far in a single extra stroke, causing any remaining pleasure to cut abruptly. Better to fall lose and surf the remaining waves until they simmer, causing Eren to roll onto his back almost uselessly, head turned sideways to allow a spot for his horns and knock his forehead close to Makoto’s.

His fingers, his belly, his pants, or what’s left of them are . . . The way they are. His thoughts swill and his concern still wavers, lifting his hand closer to his mouth, where his tongue could capture the scent closer. Scent-tasting turns into true tasting, shameless in doing so and enjoying his partner down to the last second. When his eyes refocus, to him laying there, a smile begins to spread between the heavens of his chest.

He doesn’t touch himself now— too sensitive for that, but he does shudder one last time before speaking.

“We’ll get cleaned up . . . Somehow.”

On a roof. With little clothes to work with. Why fret with stress? Eren laughs quietly, only huffs— but satisfied in every way, especially with the look of bliss on the vampire’s face.

what is the sesame street number of the day??

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