[ Let Pinocchio content himself with this, with making Wriothesley shake and beg, let him make promises that can't be paid. Another time, any other time, Wriothesley's friendship is all he wants, but under the influence of his suit, affection has been amplified, twisted. Affection that has crossed over into madness can't give him the comfort he seeks, not truly, but it can give him the illusion of it.
He kisses the spend off Wriothesley's chin, a gesture too tender for the way his relentlessness makes the man scrabble to root himself.
Isn't it good? Isn't it right? More, he says, Whatever you want. Triumph, like molten gold, burns through him, the validation makes him shiver. Answering him in a full-throated groan, not just because he feels tighter held like this, but because Wriothesley's sexy like this, hastening to meet him with the lewd tilt of his hips. Wanting it, wanting him.
There's a telling stumble in the driving, near metronomic pace; he's close now, as much the work of his exquisite body, taking him so well, as it is the wanton words falling from Wriothesley's lips. ]
You'll have more, everything I can give. I'll fill you so full—
no subject
He kisses the spend off Wriothesley's chin, a gesture too tender for the way his relentlessness makes the man scrabble to root himself.
Isn't it good? Isn't it right? More, he says, Whatever you want. Triumph, like molten gold, burns through him, the validation makes him shiver. Answering him in a full-throated groan, not just because he feels tighter held like this, but because Wriothesley's sexy like this, hastening to meet him with the lewd tilt of his hips. Wanting it, wanting him.
There's a telling stumble in the driving, near metronomic pace; he's close now, as much the work of his exquisite body, taking him so well, as it is the wanton words falling from Wriothesley's lips. ]
You'll have more, everything I can give. I'll fill you so full—