He had a reason why he kept trying to make himself heard. He mainly understood her about the water, but his quivering pride clung to the awareness that he was only just barely holding it in right now. If they did this, while they did this, he would...what if he...he knew already he wouldn't be able to keep his concentration or keep the muscles between his thighs clenched, and if so...
"--haa, ah, a-ah."
But then it was gone, it was leaving him, she chased the thought out of him with her whisper, which to him is lewd and comforting in the same breath, and with the too-light dance of fingers across his skin. He's only ever felt his own hand; plenty of times, sure, but before, in the room, that was the closest he'd ever come to feeling someone else. That had been with a sheet; this was skin to skin. His taut thighs jumped the moment he felt her, hot sparks racing across his nerves, and he gasps openly, staring in shock, first at the ceiling, and then down at her, his eyes and his lips wet.
She was beautiful. It always came back to that. Her lips seemed so red, her cheeks dusted with pink, her hair curling gold at her temples. When she opened her mouth, he groaned, the sound of it pitched and pained. When he felt her the first time, warm damp soft, he made a whimpered sound he'd never heard out of his mouth mouth.
"G...god, oh god - "
He felt interior muscles quiver. Panic leaped up, clutched tight around his heart, but her lips were going down, down and down, and all he can bring himself to do is arch and squirm, pulling at his wrists, panting wetly as he watches her.
Still beautiful. Still impossibly beautiful, and now so erotic that watching hit him as hard as all the rest, the touch and heat and the weight in his belly and, now, terribly, his own helplessness.
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Date: 2016-03-29 11:20 pm (UTC)He had a reason why he kept trying to make himself heard. He mainly understood her about the water, but his quivering pride clung to the awareness that he was only just barely holding it in right now. If they did this, while they did this, he would...what if he...he knew already he wouldn't be able to keep his concentration or keep the muscles between his thighs clenched, and if so...
"--haa, ah, a-ah."
But then it was gone, it was leaving him, she chased the thought out of him with her whisper, which to him is lewd and comforting in the same breath, and with the too-light dance of fingers across his skin. He's only ever felt his own hand; plenty of times, sure, but before, in the room, that was the closest he'd ever come to feeling someone else. That had been with a sheet; this was skin to skin. His taut thighs jumped the moment he felt her, hot sparks racing across his nerves, and he gasps openly, staring in shock, first at the ceiling, and then down at her, his eyes and his lips wet.
She was beautiful. It always came back to that. Her lips seemed so red, her cheeks dusted with pink, her hair curling gold at her temples. When she opened her mouth, he groaned, the sound of it pitched and pained. When he felt her the first time, warm damp soft, he made a whimpered sound he'd never heard out of his mouth mouth.
"G...god, oh god - "
He felt interior muscles quiver. Panic leaped up, clutched tight around his heart, but her lips were going down, down and down, and all he can bring himself to do is arch and squirm, pulling at his wrists, panting wetly as he watches her.
Still beautiful. Still impossibly beautiful, and now so erotic that watching hit him as hard as all the rest, the touch and heat and the weight in his belly and, now, terribly, his own helplessness.