[ Maybe it's just docility of the heart coming around to greet him when Tartaglia's pulse is stuttering as far up as his throat. Held this kindly, all of his affection is welling up and he can't think his way out of it.
Overcome with complacency, Tartaglia doesn't have much else to say, what with being such a fool, like his namesake, like his alias. He can't even outrun the fatalism, that ever-present sense of hopelessness that ensures he'll die someday. The only thing he ever seems to do is live in the moment.
Foolish enough to keep pushing his luck, this stare stays pinned on them. Fingers probing down the length of their hard-on, it's difficult to gauge if Mira's halfway to an erection or already achingly stiff with a callused palm alone. Tartaglia's grip is considerable but he's patient enough to work them up to it. Coaxing them towards firmness with one stroke building into the next, he'd much rather move forward than retreat. ]
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Overcome with complacency, Tartaglia doesn't have much else to say, what with being such a fool, like his namesake, like his alias. He can't even outrun the fatalism, that ever-present sense of hopelessness that ensures he'll die someday. The only thing he ever seems to do is live in the moment.
Foolish enough to keep pushing his luck, this stare stays pinned on them. Fingers probing down the length of their hard-on, it's difficult to gauge if Mira's halfway to an erection or already achingly stiff with a callused palm alone. Tartaglia's grip is considerable but he's patient enough to work them up to it. Coaxing them towards firmness with one stroke building into the next, he'd much rather move forward than retreat. ]
Is it alright if I use more than my hand on you?