Hah. [ His sensitive ears glow under the attention of teeth, blushed to the tips. ] How much hotter?
[ Unfortunately, he is not immune to someone making a complete embarrassment out of themselves. In fact, he likes it. It is — human. So much so that it alters the lay of Kizuna's expression, curbing lust with an easy affection. So Wolfwood won't be going anywhere, not with the way his laughter sticks in his awareness, reverberating in the hollow of his chest. His thumbs rub lightly at the hinges of his jaw, pressing against the strength of his pulse points as if in search of something precious beneath the flex of them. He's wise to it, the juxtaposition of his empathy with something closer to him, like being tapped into a familiar well and the sweet relief it provides.
He wonders, briefly, between the rising heat in the press of thighs and the friction of that rhythm, if the memory is a good one. He hopes so, if hoping is all he can do besides this. Arousal scents the air, feverish skin-salt against crushed rose petals so potent he can nearly taste it in the back of his throat when he inhales, cheek to cheek with him. ]
If I were to guess... [ A draw of kiss-damp lips over his cheek. ] I'd start, mmn — here?
[ Kizuna slides back on Wolfwood's hips, pivoting the warm junction of his thighs into a shameless roll against the swell of his cock beneath his zipper. ]
[ that's a sweet expression. wolfwood can't remember the last time someone looked at him like that, with warmth and easy affection, as if it's something he deserved. it's dangerous to know how much he'd craved it now, just as it's dangerous to know how it feels, the taste and texture of it given so freely. you can't long for something you've never had; can't crave for things you've never experienced. a dog doesn't crave blood until it has its first taste. a bird doesn't long for freedom if a cage is all it has known. but wolfwood knows now what it's like — to be seen, to be cared for. the prospect of feeling whole again. ]
As hot as you want, sugar.
[ wolfwood would never consider himself smooth; he's a master in the art of bullshitting and faking it 'til he makes it. how many cringey nicknames can he throw out before kizuna's had enough? by the looks of it, that doesn't seem likely. the ache from before grows, swelling gradually with each press of kizuna's fingers along his skin, and a part of him hopes, wildly and selfishly, that kizuna will continue touching him. that he would still grant him his grace and affection even after this one night.
he almost misses what kizuna says next, a low moan ripped from his throat as both hands find their way to kizuna's hips. he's dizzy with want, planting both feet on the bed to meet that sinful roll, closing his eyes at how good something as simple as that feels. ]
... Yeah. [ he has no idea what he actually said. wolfwood swallows, blinking eyes back open to seek out gold again. ] That sounds good.
You sound good too. [ Kizuna smiles down at him, sterling and heated. ] So keep your hands right there, okay?
[ Because he's going to spend a while like this, never one to do anything halfheartedly. His soul is sensitive to grit and scars, to the tender flesh beneath that still aches when touched. Kizuna won't tear them open, but he will trace their human topology, turning this exposition into a love letter. If he has to feel the way he does, the ravening touch of his empathy laying bare his desires and the desires of others, pouring his heart out over them is the least he can do.
Kizuna could cut to the chase but finds that he likes the pace: the low, fiery glow, flickers of desire having life breathed into them. Palms sliding downwards, cupping over the muscle of Wolfwood's chest until his thumbs tease over nipples, Kizuna rocks forward again into his hands. ]
Move me how you want. [ Leaning in to allow the fervent caress of skin on skin, Kizuna presses a kiss to his mouth. ] Show me what feels best for you.
[ He can sense. He can intuit. But he also wants to know. ]
[ there's something about it that arrests him — his voice, maybe, or his expression; molten gold holding him in place as the words sink into him, just as slow and sweet as the pleasure that thrums through his veins. yeah, he thinks. okay. he opens the breadth of his palms over kizuna's hips, spanning his fingers as if he could get them to meet around the circumference of his body. they can't, of course, but the prospect makes desire spike in wolfwood's belly, makes him tighten his grip to hold kizuna closer, the warm shape of him settled against his own arousal a teasing hot brand that lances through him.
he's embarrassingly close. kizuna must know; he seems to know everything already. wolfwood may as well be laid completely bare beneath him, open to his gaze and his touch, his past that he could never hide etched into his unguarded expression: something like awe, maybe; longing, perhaps. he twitches up into the teasing press of his thumbs, a shudder racing down his spine as he meets that forward rock of his hips, chasing his pleasure for a blindingly hot minute.
what kizuna may or may not know is that everything feels good, feels best; he's never felt better in his life, he thinks. he looses another sound into the kiss, low and desperate, all teeth and tongue. he wants to roll kizuna over and sink his teeth into him, wants to press his lips to every part of him he can reach. idolatry has already been tacked onto his long list of damning offenses, but if his soul could ever be redeemed, he thinks maybe kizuna might be the one to lead him there. ]
Let me touch you. [ he breathes between kisses, one hand relinquishing its grip on kizuna's hip to palm over his crotch. ] Please.
[ Salvation is the only thing he's ever wanted to give. Away from God and between people, it's complicated without the gift of understanding, the benevolence of its light. Kizuna has never been without it, the sharp shadows it casts looming long at his feet. But as broad fingertips spread fever-fast over the skin of his belly, seizing him by the hips and anchoring him to implicit hunger and an adoration full of teeth — he can think only of meeting those desires, the shape of them coalescing in deep brown eyes, the heartrending lack of severity or apprehension in them.
It makes the back of his neck grow hot to feel those carnal thoughts leveled at him, their closeness threatening to bring that to reality at any moment. Pressure against his groin makes him breathe a noise, the flute of it in his throat soft and hungry. ]
You can.
[ Using the sturdiness of Wolfwood's body as leverage, he pushes himself up again, leaning back against his knees. With the way he looks at him, Kizuna can't help himself in making a sight worth beholding, hips at a provocative jut as one hand poises itself at the lowermost point of his belly. Licking his lips, his fingers splay, index and middle parting across muscle as if to highlight the hard press of his erection trapped against his zipper. ]
You can see what you're doing to me. Or... [ A wicked press downward on his knees, grinding his ass against his clothed cock. ] You can come first.
[ He does know, and a guiding hand takes many forms. ]
[ wolfwood has always known that salvation is out of his reach, that a sinner like him doesn't deserve it. it was a price he'd gladly paid if it meant the orphanage was safe, if livio could thrive. but here, laid between kizuna's thighs and bearing the weight of his gaze and his touch, wolfwood yearns for it — that sweet relief, forbidden and tantalizing in equal measure. it claws at him, the mix of hunger and desire and adoration a searing cocktail that shears him down to mere sensation and instinct, a flood of emotions he can't and won't identify.
how pathetic can he get, he wonders. that kizuna is still looking at him like he is something to be desired nearly beggars belief, but wolfwood looks anyway: his unwavering focus tracking the movement of his hands and fingers, the peek of his tongue over kiss-swollen lips; the tempting swell of his arousal through metal and fabric. he calls upon all the self-discipline he's had flayed into his body over the years and just barely wrangles himself back into some approximation of normalcy, a futile attempt as he bites back another noise — a wounded sound at the press over his own cock, the teasing pressure only adding another layer of sensation, winding everything up in him with no where to go. ]
God— [ the remaining hand on kizuna's hip tightens, a startled bark of laughter bubbling up despite the way his heart stutters in his chest. ] Fuck you.
[ there's no heat to it, too weak to be a protest — not that it was meant to be one, not with the way his face grows hot in the wake of it. he reaches down to free himself from the confines of his trousers, does the same for kizuna, fingers surprisingly more steady than he really feels. but the second he gets his hand around them both, barely registering the mortifying knowledge that he's been dripping precome likely since kizuna first kissed him, he manages one full stroke before he's coming against kizuna and into his fist, a low growl that could almost be passed off as a snarl hissing through clenched teeth. ]
Edited (i know it's five hrs later but don't judge me) 2024-04-27 03:57 (UTC)
[ There's so much to love about the sound of laughter, the way it begets itself even in the most intense moments — and it is intense, even if it's also short-lived. Kizuna responds similarly, stuttering out an undaunted, breathless laugh. He's freed in just enough time to partake in his orgasm as it comes desperately between them, messy and honest.
All the prettiness in the world can't compare to the effect of touch on someone deprived of it, affection given without restraint like rain on dry land. On his knees and still hard in Wolfwood's wet fist, Kizuna smiles at him, the mirth creased at the corners of his eyes nothing short of adoring. There's a sort of rawness Kizuna knows well, the sweltering chafe of kindness against wounds not old enough to scar; perhaps for men like Wolfwood, they would never scar, not with the way he selflessly carries them open and bloody, bullshitting the only levity he can afford. His insult lacks teeth, the noise of it prompting the shine he's taken to him to glow all the brighter. ]
Oh, good boy. [ It's near delicate, the way he reaches down to smear the flats of his fingers through his cum. What he does next is less so: he laves the taste of him off his skin with his tongue. Filthy and flirtatious all in one. ] I bet that felt incredible.
[ A flex of his hips highlights the firm length of his cock still held in his hand, velvet skin receptive to the full grip of him, his callused skin. Kizuna purrs a contented noise, unhurried. To be starved of touch means to be sensitive to it, after all. He thinks he can have him ready to go again in no time. ]
I like your touch on me too. [ A lean back, one hand sneaking below his waistband to tug provocatively at his pants. Hello, he is overdressed. And so is Wolfwood. ] If I lay back, will you keep going?
[ coming down from the high of coming harder than he ever has in a long, long time means he's vulnerable to the devastating one-two punch of kizuna's voice, of his fingers dragging through his spend to lick them off. wolfwood's head spins, his spent cock making a valiant attempt as it hardens again, made easier where it's still nestled against kizuna's. the good boy sinks into his brain, hooks him in his gut as he swallows hard, dryness clicking in his throat.
he wants to be good; he's always wanted to be. everything the eye took from him he can never reclaim, but they couldn't beat those instincts out of him. he feels — exposed, raw, and beneath all of that, relief. in his post-nut clarity, he wonders briefly how kizuna is even real as he watches the smooth flex of his abdomen when he leans back. ]
You're incredible, [ he says, aiming for his usual levity and landing a little too close to the glaring bullseye he only just tossed a blanket over. ] I can go all night, babe. [ he tacks on, as if that makes it any better.
but before he can make any more of an ass out of himself (again), he wipes his hand on the sheets below him and slips his hands beneath kizuna's waistband, tugging them down over his hips and thighs. it feels a little bit like he's been given a gift, undressing this beautiful man that really has no business being on his knees for wolfwood. it wars within him, the knowledge that he doesn't deserve this against the bigger part of him that wants to make him feel good, that wants to be good; that wants to selfishly keep that adoring gaze on him and be worthy of it. ]
[ For Kizuna, the high is just starting. It's in the magnetism of such opposing emotions: the unbridled desire to be something fate robbed him of, the struggle to feel worthy of it when that fate had turned out unimaginably cruel. If only Wolfwood knew, Kizuna thinks as he allows him to undress him the rest of the way, that his gaze on him is just as devastating. But he smiles as if things are so much simpler than that, easing back to return the favor and divest the other man of the rest of his clothing too. ]
Mhm. I'll hold you to that, darling. [ Now completely bare and skin to skin, Kizuna reclaims his spot on Wolfwood's hips. Only now he's slinking slightly higher on his body, a terrible shine in his eyes. ] Then I'll prove to you just how incredible I can be.
[ Like a promise, the answer to a prayer — leaning down on a palm pressed to the sheets at Wolfwood's side, Kizuna uses the other hand, fingers still slightly damp from the lap of his tongue, to tip his chin upwards. It's easier to kiss him like that, loose-lipped and hungry. He gives a slow rut against his naked body, erection pressed provocatively to his belly. ]
How fast do you wanna make me come? [ Purred low against smoke-scented lips, marked by kisses. ] I'll let you decide.
[ it almost hurts a little, how it feels to have kizuna's bare skin pressed against his own: all smooth and supple skin, the give of it beneath his fingers. he wonders how it's possible to be unable to stop running his hands everywhere, to wish to be in two different places at once. there's the very real danger of pressing too hard, to leave his mark on kizuna even temporarily; would he regret it in the morning when he sees them, the dark evidence of his possession and hunger marring his perfect skin? wolfwood aches in a way he doesn't understand, something in his chest breaking and mending all at once, but he tips his head easily at the nudge of damp fingers, eager for the anointment of kizuna's affection.
wolfwood's orgasm hasn't banked the heat in his veins — if anything, it's only made it worse now that he's had a taste of it. he groans into his mouth, his hands settling once more on kizuna's hips squeezing briefly; a silent encouragement for another rut, and another. as much as kizuna is willing to give. ]
You don't gotta prove anything. [ he already has, as far as wolfwood is concerned. ] Not to me.
[ he's the last person that needs it. kizuna asks him how fast, but wolfwood's selfish desire rears its head again, wanting to prolong it for as long as he can. if he's only getting one night, he may as well make the most of it for both of them. when the kiss breaks, he finds himself staring into gold again, lets himself get lost in it as he brushes the back of his fingers reverently along the curve of one soft cheek. ]
Tell me what you like. [ and as if he hasn't damned himself enough already: ] I'll do anything.
[ So easily pleased, brought to heel by ordinary desires. With each slide of skin between them, that hurt amplifies. The ache rings in Kizuna's pulse points, its soft reverb making him all too aware of his own body's outline. He doesn't want his body to feel so separate from Wolfwood's, to have his reverence placed between them like a wall. If it would give him any sense of peace and belonging at all, Kizuna would gladly let Wolfwood blur his lines with the rigor of his touch, to coat him in his shadowed fingerprints. To be perfect is to be untouched. But when the touch comes and it's the gentle draw of knuckles across the height of his cheek, he sighs, tipping his head into it instinctively.
He's really something special. ]
Anything is a lot to offer. [ Not because Kizuna doesn't believe him, but because he does believe he'd do anything. ] But it's you that I like, so anything is fine.
[ He thoughtfully reaches to run nimble fingers over the other man's wrists, tracing the muscles of his forearms. A shiver runs though his inner thighs — what would it be like to have his weight given up to those hands? Like a prelude, he kisses him again, breath pluming warm and slow in consideration, tongue laying the words upon his mouth. ]
Your strength and your mouth. [ A cute click of his teeth. ] Those are what I want the most.
[ he doesn't have much to offer; not anymore, at least, and not that he's had a lot to begin with. what kizuna sees beneath him is all he gets, and wolfwood is self-aware enough to know that it's a shitty bargain. kizuna could have anyone eating out of the palm of his hand if he wanted, and he's here instead: kissing him and touching him like he's something desirable, like there's something of worth left beneath the blood and sand and grit caked into his skin; like there's still some resemblance of a human inside the monster that he was made to be.
he tips his head into wolfwood's touch so readily, so easily, and wolfwood swallows, his mouth suddenly bone dry. it's you that i like, he says, and wolfwood feels almost embarrassed for a mortifying moment before he's thankfully distracted by the soft touch of kizuna's fingers running up his arms, prickling his skin in their wake. ]
Yeah. [ the image burns itself into his brain, the idea of kizuna braced over him, backlit by the soft light of the room. radiant; divine. he mirrors that shiver, pressing his tongue against that click of teeth, his arms flexing beneath kizuna's hands before his own slide back down kizuna's thighs, palms cupping the backs of them. ] I can do that.
[ it's easy enough to pull kizuna further up his chest until he's directly above wolfwood's mouth. his hands bear most of his weight as he lowers him enough to run his tongue along the underside of his cock, over his perineum to trace the rim of that puckered hole. ]
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no subject
[ Unfortunately, he is not immune to someone making a complete embarrassment out of themselves. In fact, he likes it. It is — human. So much so that it alters the lay of Kizuna's expression, curbing lust with an easy affection. So Wolfwood won't be going anywhere, not with the way his laughter sticks in his awareness, reverberating in the hollow of his chest. His thumbs rub lightly at the hinges of his jaw, pressing against the strength of his pulse points as if in search of something precious beneath the flex of them. He's wise to it, the juxtaposition of his empathy with something closer to him, like being tapped into a familiar well and the sweet relief it provides.
He wonders, briefly, between the rising heat in the press of thighs and the friction of that rhythm, if the memory is a good one. He hopes so, if hoping is all he can do besides this. Arousal scents the air, feverish skin-salt against crushed rose petals so potent he can nearly taste it in the back of his throat when he inhales, cheek to cheek with him. ]
If I were to guess... [ A draw of kiss-damp lips over his cheek. ] I'd start, mmn — here?
[ Kizuna slides back on Wolfwood's hips, pivoting the warm junction of his thighs into a shameless roll against the swell of his cock beneath his zipper. ]
no subject
As hot as you want, sugar.
[ wolfwood would never consider himself smooth; he's a master in the art of bullshitting and faking it 'til he makes it. how many cringey nicknames can he throw out before kizuna's had enough? by the looks of it, that doesn't seem likely. the ache from before grows, swelling gradually with each press of kizuna's fingers along his skin, and a part of him hopes, wildly and selfishly, that kizuna will continue touching him. that he would still grant him his grace and affection even after this one night.
he almost misses what kizuna says next, a low moan ripped from his throat as both hands find their way to kizuna's hips. he's dizzy with want, planting both feet on the bed to meet that sinful roll, closing his eyes at how good something as simple as that feels. ]
... Yeah. [ he has no idea what he actually said. wolfwood swallows, blinking eyes back open to seek out gold again. ] That sounds good.
no subject
[ Because he's going to spend a while like this, never one to do anything halfheartedly. His soul is sensitive to grit and scars, to the tender flesh beneath that still aches when touched. Kizuna won't tear them open, but he will trace their human topology, turning this exposition into a love letter. If he has to feel the way he does, the ravening touch of his empathy laying bare his desires and the desires of others, pouring his heart out over them is the least he can do.
Kizuna could cut to the chase but finds that he likes the pace: the low, fiery glow, flickers of desire having life breathed into them. Palms sliding downwards, cupping over the muscle of Wolfwood's chest until his thumbs tease over nipples, Kizuna rocks forward again into his hands. ]
Move me how you want. [ Leaning in to allow the fervent caress of skin on skin, Kizuna presses a kiss to his mouth. ] Show me what feels best for you.
[ He can sense. He can intuit. But he also wants to know. ]
no subject
he's embarrassingly close. kizuna must know; he seems to know everything already. wolfwood may as well be laid completely bare beneath him, open to his gaze and his touch, his past that he could never hide etched into his unguarded expression: something like awe, maybe; longing, perhaps. he twitches up into the teasing press of his thumbs, a shudder racing down his spine as he meets that forward rock of his hips, chasing his pleasure for a blindingly hot minute.
what kizuna may or may not know is that everything feels good, feels best; he's never felt better in his life, he thinks. he looses another sound into the kiss, low and desperate, all teeth and tongue. he wants to roll kizuna over and sink his teeth into him, wants to press his lips to every part of him he can reach. idolatry has already been tacked onto his long list of damning offenses, but if his soul could ever be redeemed, he thinks maybe kizuna might be the one to lead him there. ]
Let me touch you. [ he breathes between kisses, one hand relinquishing its grip on kizuna's hip to palm over his crotch. ] Please.
no subject
It makes the back of his neck grow hot to feel those carnal thoughts leveled at him, their closeness threatening to bring that to reality at any moment. Pressure against his groin makes him breathe a noise, the flute of it in his throat soft and hungry. ]
You can.
[ Using the sturdiness of Wolfwood's body as leverage, he pushes himself up again, leaning back against his knees. With the way he looks at him, Kizuna can't help himself in making a sight worth beholding, hips at a provocative jut as one hand poises itself at the lowermost point of his belly. Licking his lips, his fingers splay, index and middle parting across muscle as if to highlight the hard press of his erection trapped against his zipper. ]
You can see what you're doing to me. Or... [ A wicked press downward on his knees, grinding his ass against his clothed cock. ] You can come first.
[ He does know, and a guiding hand takes many forms. ]
no subject
how pathetic can he get, he wonders. that kizuna is still looking at him like he is something to be desired nearly beggars belief, but wolfwood looks anyway: his unwavering focus tracking the movement of his hands and fingers, the peek of his tongue over kiss-swollen lips; the tempting swell of his arousal through metal and fabric. he calls upon all the self-discipline he's had flayed into his body over the years and just barely wrangles himself back into some approximation of normalcy, a futile attempt as he bites back another noise — a wounded sound at the press over his own cock, the teasing pressure only adding another layer of sensation, winding everything up in him with no where to go. ]
God— [ the remaining hand on kizuna's hip tightens, a startled bark of laughter bubbling up despite the way his heart stutters in his chest. ] Fuck you.
[ there's no heat to it, too weak to be a protest — not that it was meant to be one, not with the way his face grows hot in the wake of it. he reaches down to free himself from the confines of his trousers, does the same for kizuna, fingers surprisingly more steady than he really feels. but the second he gets his hand around them both, barely registering the mortifying knowledge that he's been dripping precome likely since kizuna first kissed him, he manages one full stroke before he's coming against kizuna and into his fist, a low growl that could almost be passed off as a snarl hissing through clenched teeth. ]
no subject
All the prettiness in the world can't compare to the effect of touch on someone deprived of it, affection given without restraint like rain on dry land. On his knees and still hard in Wolfwood's wet fist, Kizuna smiles at him, the mirth creased at the corners of his eyes nothing short of adoring. There's a sort of rawness Kizuna knows well, the sweltering chafe of kindness against wounds not old enough to scar; perhaps for men like Wolfwood, they would never scar, not with the way he selflessly carries them open and bloody, bullshitting the only levity he can afford. His insult lacks teeth, the noise of it prompting the shine he's taken to him to glow all the brighter. ]
Oh, good boy. [ It's near delicate, the way he reaches down to smear the flats of his fingers through his cum. What he does next is less so: he laves the taste of him off his skin with his tongue. Filthy and flirtatious all in one. ] I bet that felt incredible.
[ A flex of his hips highlights the firm length of his cock still held in his hand, velvet skin receptive to the full grip of him, his callused skin. Kizuna purrs a contented noise, unhurried. To be starved of touch means to be sensitive to it, after all. He thinks he can have him ready to go again in no time. ]
I like your touch on me too. [ A lean back, one hand sneaking below his waistband to tug provocatively at his pants. Hello, he is overdressed. And so is Wolfwood. ] If I lay back, will you keep going?
no subject
he wants to be good; he's always wanted to be. everything the eye took from him he can never reclaim, but they couldn't beat those instincts out of him. he feels — exposed, raw, and beneath all of that, relief. in his post-nut clarity, he wonders briefly how kizuna is even real as he watches the smooth flex of his abdomen when he leans back. ]
You're incredible, [ he says, aiming for his usual levity and landing a little too close to the glaring bullseye he only just tossed a blanket over. ] I can go all night, babe. [ he tacks on, as if that makes it any better.
but before he can make any more of an ass out of himself (again), he wipes his hand on the sheets below him and slips his hands beneath kizuna's waistband, tugging them down over his hips and thighs. it feels a little bit like he's been given a gift, undressing this beautiful man that really has no business being on his knees for wolfwood. it wars within him, the knowledge that he doesn't deserve this against the bigger part of him that wants to make him feel good, that wants to be good; that wants to selfishly keep that adoring gaze on him and be worthy of it. ]
no subject
Mhm. I'll hold you to that, darling. [ Now completely bare and skin to skin, Kizuna reclaims his spot on Wolfwood's hips. Only now he's slinking slightly higher on his body, a terrible shine in his eyes. ] Then I'll prove to you just how incredible I can be.
[ Like a promise, the answer to a prayer — leaning down on a palm pressed to the sheets at Wolfwood's side, Kizuna uses the other hand, fingers still slightly damp from the lap of his tongue, to tip his chin upwards. It's easier to kiss him like that, loose-lipped and hungry. He gives a slow rut against his naked body, erection pressed provocatively to his belly. ]
How fast do you wanna make me come? [ Purred low against smoke-scented lips, marked by kisses. ] I'll let you decide.
no subject
wolfwood's orgasm hasn't banked the heat in his veins — if anything, it's only made it worse now that he's had a taste of it. he groans into his mouth, his hands settling once more on kizuna's hips squeezing briefly; a silent encouragement for another rut, and another. as much as kizuna is willing to give. ]
You don't gotta prove anything. [ he already has, as far as wolfwood is concerned. ] Not to me.
[ he's the last person that needs it. kizuna asks him how fast, but wolfwood's selfish desire rears its head again, wanting to prolong it for as long as he can. if he's only getting one night, he may as well make the most of it for both of them. when the kiss breaks, he finds himself staring into gold again, lets himself get lost in it as he brushes the back of his fingers reverently along the curve of one soft cheek. ]
Tell me what you like. [ and as if he hasn't damned himself enough already: ] I'll do anything.
no subject
He's really something special. ]
Anything is a lot to offer. [ Not because Kizuna doesn't believe him, but because he does believe he'd do anything. ] But it's you that I like, so anything is fine.
[ He thoughtfully reaches to run nimble fingers over the other man's wrists, tracing the muscles of his forearms. A shiver runs though his inner thighs — what would it be like to have his weight given up to those hands? Like a prelude, he kisses him again, breath pluming warm and slow in consideration, tongue laying the words upon his mouth. ]
Your strength and your mouth. [ A cute click of his teeth. ] Those are what I want the most.
no subject
he tips his head into wolfwood's touch so readily, so easily, and wolfwood swallows, his mouth suddenly bone dry. it's you that i like, he says, and wolfwood feels almost embarrassed for a mortifying moment before he's thankfully distracted by the soft touch of kizuna's fingers running up his arms, prickling his skin in their wake. ]
Yeah. [ the image burns itself into his brain, the idea of kizuna braced over him, backlit by the soft light of the room. radiant; divine. he mirrors that shiver, pressing his tongue against that click of teeth, his arms flexing beneath kizuna's hands before his own slide back down kizuna's thighs, palms cupping the backs of them. ] I can do that.
[ it's easy enough to pull kizuna further up his chest until he's directly above wolfwood's mouth. his hands bear most of his weight as he lowers him enough to run his tongue along the underside of his cock, over his perineum to trace the rim of that puckered hole. ]