[ the freedom to do what he wants is a large part of why cassidy turned pirate. for most men, freedom is as much a lure to piracy as gold. it's a bit of a double-edged sword, though, because a pirate is free only so long as he isn't caught. often it means he can't return to civilization and whatever home or family he might've had there. for some, it isn't a problem; for some, it's a welcome reprieve. for others, it's a cause of many drunken nights. and it's the reason cassidy hasn't had anywhere to call home for a long time, the reason he sleeps with a knife under his pillow. the closest thing he has to home is his ship, and aside from that nassau's inn where his rapport with the owner guarantees him him a room... six out of ten times. a pirate is a vagabond.
that was one of the biggest adjustments he had to make in eudio. electricity and running water aside, the strangest thing about the apartment was just having it at all. a single, unchanging place he was meant to stay, a place he could wake up in every morning and return to every night if he so chose (he often didn't at first, just from the mere strangeness of it, and opted instead to pass out in bars or on park benches, or camp out on the beach). since then, he's gotten more comfortable with sleeping in his own bed. there are perks to having a stationary home. he doesn't have to carry his belongings with him everywhere he goes, for one, though he still tends to bring most of them anyway out of habit. he can have more than one outfit. he can store food in his kitchen and even keep it from spoiling too quickly by using the refrigerator.
and, not least of all, when someone wants to find him in the middle of the night for a tumble in the sheets, they know where to look.
that last one seems the most important right now, as john hitches his knee higher, spreading him wider, and trails his mouth lower. cassidy squirms and makes a noise that is not a whine, but might be compared to one, as he feels a sharp stab of pleasure from john licking that place between his balls and his ass that's already sensitive, usually, without him being overstimulated on top of it. he makes that noise again, breathless, as john goes ever lower, and squirms again. ] Jesus— fuck, John. You're an utter bastard.
[ he might've even reached back and pushed john's head away, if john didn't choose that moment to move up cassidy's body. he breathes out, tingling all over, faintly dizzy from the headiness of it as john kisses up his back and bites his ear, his cock so close to where he wants it. so close he aches, his want bordering on need. his low, dissatisfied groan is half-muffled by the pillow. a shiver races down his spine as john speaks against his ear, and he tries to push back against that finger but he doesn't get far with john caging him in.
when john asks him that question, he turns his face into the pillow and whatever he says next is muffled so badly as to be incomprehensible. ]
no ur not don't lie. also i'm sorry (not sorry) for this.
that was one of the biggest adjustments he had to make in eudio. electricity and running water aside, the strangest thing about the apartment was just having it at all. a single, unchanging place he was meant to stay, a place he could wake up in every morning and return to every night if he so chose (he often didn't at first, just from the mere strangeness of it, and opted instead to pass out in bars or on park benches, or camp out on the beach). since then, he's gotten more comfortable with sleeping in his own bed. there are perks to having a stationary home. he doesn't have to carry his belongings with him everywhere he goes, for one, though he still tends to bring most of them anyway out of habit. he can have more than one outfit. he can store food in his kitchen and even keep it from spoiling too quickly by using the refrigerator.
and, not least of all, when someone wants to find him in the middle of the night for a tumble in the sheets, they know where to look.
that last one seems the most important right now, as john hitches his knee higher, spreading him wider, and trails his mouth lower. cassidy squirms and makes a noise that is not a whine, but might be compared to one, as he feels a sharp stab of pleasure from john licking that place between his balls and his ass that's already sensitive, usually, without him being overstimulated on top of it. he makes that noise again, breathless, as john goes ever lower, and squirms again. ] Jesus— fuck, John. You're an utter bastard.
[ he might've even reached back and pushed john's head away, if john didn't choose that moment to move up cassidy's body. he breathes out, tingling all over, faintly dizzy from the headiness of it as john kisses up his back and bites his ear, his cock so close to where he wants it. so close he aches, his want bordering on need. his low, dissatisfied groan is half-muffled by the pillow. a shiver races down his spine as john speaks against his ear, and he tries to push back against that finger but he doesn't get far with john caging him in.
when john asks him that question, he turns his face into the pillow and whatever he says next is muffled so badly as to be incomprehensible. ]