[ It has to be because it's him that it feels the way it does, each roll and plunge of his length into Wriothesley's mouth making him want to grip and thrust deeper. He'd never, anywhere else. With his crown hitting the slippery inside of a cheek and easing further into the clutch of of his throat with every rut — the man's desires drip down against his insides as if molten. His empathy lays him bare, lets Wriothesley get right into his blood. Gaze fluttering, Kizuna watches him between his legs, memorizing the shape his lashes make against his cheek, the flips and curls of hair tangled against the grip of his fingers as he yanks forward slightly as if to say: further.
Only the cursory rub of fingertips against his entrance makes his rhythm slip and his breath stutter quietly in his chest. The reason is probably obvious: the pucker of muscle there is still tight, not tender enough to show signs of any recent use.
Kizuna huffs, the flush of his cheeks warm as his fingers ease their grip, coherent thought returning to him for a flash. ]
no subject
Only the cursory rub of fingertips against his entrance makes his rhythm slip and his breath stutter quietly in his chest. The reason is probably obvious: the pucker of muscle there is still tight, not tender enough to show signs of any recent use.
Kizuna huffs, the flush of his cheeks warm as his fingers ease their grip, coherent thought returning to him for a flash. ]
I haven't let anyone yet.