[ He doesn't belong to him, Pinocchio knows this, but isn't it nice to pretend? That the needy arch of Wriothesley's back isn't just because he's pulling at his rim, it's not only because thumb and a fingertip are nudging into his slick hole, tugging and working him open. Wolfishly territorial, he leans hard into this play of possessiveness, drinking deep of that heady draught that is Wrio's neediness, his desperation to justify.
Like he owes the puppet any explanation at all. He rewards him with his index finger twisting into him along with his thumb, hearing the obscene squelch of slick rushing to fill the crevices between the intruding digits. ]
Easier.
[ A growl, in tenor. A word like velvet-wrapped iron, and fingers starting to fuck into his willing hole, gliding on the slick he has his suit to thank. He... never knew a suit could do something like that. There's still so much he doesn't know, and this is not the time for his curiosity. ] Easier to be anyone else's, too.
[ His metal hand grips him by the root of his long hair, pulling at him, making his back arch just a little bit more. ]
Good that I found you first. [ Thumb and index finger pull free, a shining thread of clinging fluid stretching between his pink rim and his fingertip. He rubs his thumb through it, contemplating the glistening smear on his skin.
Honestly, he's got half a mind to have a taste, but the other half wants to hilt himself in him, and that side is winning out. So when his fingers crowd back into him, it's with the broader intrusion of his middle finger, too, just this side of rough. ]
no subject
Like he owes the puppet any explanation at all. He rewards him with his index finger twisting into him along with his thumb, hearing the obscene squelch of slick rushing to fill the crevices between the intruding digits. ]
Easier.
[ A growl, in tenor. A word like velvet-wrapped iron, and fingers starting to fuck into his willing hole, gliding on the slick he has his suit to thank. He... never knew a suit could do something like that. There's still so much he doesn't know, and this is not the time for his curiosity. ] Easier to be anyone else's, too.
[ His metal hand grips him by the root of his long hair, pulling at him, making his back arch just a little bit more. ]
Good that I found you first. [ Thumb and index finger pull free, a shining thread of clinging fluid stretching between his pink rim and his fingertip. He rubs his thumb through it, contemplating the glistening smear on his skin.
Honestly, he's got half a mind to have a taste, but the other half wants to hilt himself in him, and that side is winning out. So when his fingers crowd back into him, it's with the broader intrusion of his middle finger, too, just this side of rough. ]