[ by this point, tseng is dazed enough by the force of his own desire that he thinks he must have imagined the pressure of rufus’ touch against his cock—it must have been a hallucination, an artifact of wishful thinking. he’s dazed enough that he doesn’t quite manage to hold himself back entirely from his desire to twitch up into the ghost of that touch, his hips shifting slightly on the bed before he quells the need to move. gods, it’s just—it’s just—
tseng puts his thoughts away and redoubles his efforts. he wishes he’d brought lube, so he could slip a finger or two inside rufus and see what kind of noises he makes when tseng massages his prostate; he wishes he had even the faintest excuse for that, but he doesn’t, which is why his hands stay right where they are. the excuse for the fact that he’s still licking over rufus’ entrance, still fucking him with his tongue, is that there may be a clause of the slot machines that demands that one party reach orgasm. there’s no excuse for tseng wanting to finger rufus until he comes all over tseng’s chest.
(fuck.)
it’s clear that rufus is getting closer to climax, at least judging by the way his noises are growing a little freer and the way the his thighs keep twitching against tseng’s shoulders. the wet place on tseng’s collarbones must be precum, and the thought alone is enough to send a fresh surge of heat through his body. if he was going to stop at all, tseng should have stopped minutes ago, after the first pass of his tongue against rufus’ entrance; that chance has long since passed, and now a herd of wild chocobos couldn’t pull him away from his task of getting to hear what rufus sounds like when he comes. ]
no subject
tseng puts his thoughts away and redoubles his efforts. he wishes he’d brought lube, so he could slip a finger or two inside rufus and see what kind of noises he makes when tseng massages his prostate; he wishes he had even the faintest excuse for that, but he doesn’t, which is why his hands stay right where they are. the excuse for the fact that he’s still licking over rufus’ entrance, still fucking him with his tongue, is that there may be a clause of the slot machines that demands that one party reach orgasm. there’s no excuse for tseng wanting to finger rufus until he comes all over tseng’s chest.
(fuck.)
it’s clear that rufus is getting closer to climax, at least judging by the way his noises are growing a little freer and the way the his thighs keep twitching against tseng’s shoulders. the wet place on tseng’s collarbones must be precum, and the thought alone is enough to send a fresh surge of heat through his body. if he was going to stop at all, tseng should have stopped minutes ago, after the first pass of his tongue against rufus’ entrance; that chance has long since passed, and now a herd of wild chocobos couldn’t pull him away from his task of getting to hear what rufus sounds like when he comes. ]