[ Watching Mira ruins his self-control, his grip on them veering toward filthy and obscene when they yield. But denying them never even crosses Tartaglia's mind. His hand is nothing but empty pressure over that naked stretch of skin, chasing this appetite for touching them every which way like he's trying to strike a moving target.
Then again, he's hardly good at being a person when he's more akin to an unruly tidal wave, licking up attention, feigning humanity like he hasn't held other people under the current. Maybe there's only wretchedness left inside; the vulnerable part of him that answers to a name like Ajax is locked away somewhere it can never return.
Even so, he spreads Mira out just to fuck them and nothing else, drowning in the scrape of those fingertips rushing over his shoulder-blades. Tartaglia's coming devastatingly undone; he draws his thrusts out, sinking his cock inside to make it last as long as he can and dragging the final, gleaming moments out into tenderness.
When he finally blows his load, it's a feeling that strangles even his nerves. Streaky with heat and cum, his dick's softening up but Tartaglia doesn't pull out just yet. The ache finds him regardless, hot and fathomless. Insolently, he reaches down with the intent to sloppily pump Mira off the rest of the way, despite their reservations. ]
Come on. Isn't it time— you stopped playing it safe? [ Running out of poise, his feelings stay exposed like a fraying wire. ] Show me who you really are.
[ Who they really are? A steep ask. Impossible, even, or at least very close to it. Desire, potent and overwhelming, it builds like a wave, cresting when his hand closes around their cock. Whether it's desire for more of this, to be fucked out of their mind or to let him see what they try so hard to bury deep into the marrow of their bones, they can't tell for sure.
Whatever it is, it's intoxicating and addictive. Would it be so bad to let go completely and place everything they are in his hands? Even this is more than anything they've allowed. They've played it safe for so long, as long as they can remember. Tightly controlled, their restraint is a barrier that's thinning. Tartaglia's a force on his own, threatening to pull them under and keep them there.
All they can think of doing is cup their hand around the back of his neck, to pull him down and keep him in place. Caught up in Tartaglia's heat and desire and the feeling of his hand on them melts just enough of their restraint. Pressing their face against his neck, it's a growl, low and closer to a snarl, that comes before they bite down hard.
Far from letting go entirely, but it's enough. Wrenched out of them, their cry is hoarse and breathless. Intertwined with it, his name, half-broken and closer to a sob as they spill over his hand. ]
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
blankpoint) wrote2023-01-01 03:09 pm
no subject
Then again, he's hardly good at being a person when he's more akin to an unruly tidal wave, licking up attention, feigning humanity like he hasn't held other people under the current. Maybe there's only wretchedness left inside; the vulnerable part of him that answers to a name like Ajax is locked away somewhere it can never return.
Even so, he spreads Mira out just to fuck them and nothing else, drowning in the scrape of those fingertips rushing over his shoulder-blades. Tartaglia's coming devastatingly undone; he draws his thrusts out, sinking his cock inside to make it last as long as he can and dragging the final, gleaming moments out into tenderness.
When he finally blows his load, it's a feeling that strangles even his nerves. Streaky with heat and cum, his dick's softening up but Tartaglia doesn't pull out just yet. The ache finds him regardless, hot and fathomless. Insolently, he reaches down with the intent to sloppily pump Mira off the rest of the way, despite their reservations. ]
Come on. Isn't it time— you stopped playing it safe? [ Running out of poise, his feelings stay exposed like a fraying wire. ] Show me who you really are.
no subject
Whatever it is, it's intoxicating and addictive. Would it be so bad to let go completely and place everything they are in his hands? Even this is more than anything they've allowed. They've played it safe for so long, as long as they can remember. Tightly controlled, their restraint is a barrier that's thinning. Tartaglia's a force on his own, threatening to pull them under and keep them there.
All they can think of doing is cup their hand around the back of his neck, to pull him down and keep him in place. Caught up in Tartaglia's heat and desire and the feeling of his hand on them melts just enough of their restraint. Pressing their face against his neck, it's a growl, low and closer to a snarl, that comes before they bite down hard.
Far from letting go entirely, but it's enough. Wrenched out of them, their cry is hoarse and breathless. Intertwined with it, his name, half-broken and closer to a sob as they spill over his hand. ]