[His name. How many times can he think to himself that this really must be a dream? One more, at least, as one set of Tseng's fingers stay tight in his hair and the other start to trace wet along his skin, and he doesn't have to do anything but sink down into the sensation of it and bask in the attention he's given. It's hard to know quite what to do with his arms, whether to drop them to his sides or claw at the desktop or try to reach back and feel for Tseng behind him; he eventually settles for clawing as the first press of Tseng's finger starts to register, and all of a sudden he's urgent for something to hold onto.
The thing about the question Tseng poses him is that it's an open question how serious he is about it. There are, ostensibly, reasons rooted in genuine concern that he might ask. There are also reasons that have nothing to do with concern and everything to do with the tension of the moment, the power he's exerting and maintaining with every least little movement.
And, well. He might be pinned, and he might be relishing this, but he's certainly not going to be mistaken for docile.]
Worried about how you'll measure up?
[Like that's even a question, when he's already preoccupied with how talented this dream-Tseng is at working him up, how good it already feels when they've barely even begun to do anything at all. He squeezes his eyes shut, breath condensing on the tabletop as he exhales roughly, and shifts his feet again to rock his hips back a little, for all that there isn't much room to move to begin with.]
no subject
The thing about the question Tseng poses him is that it's an open question how serious he is about it. There are, ostensibly, reasons rooted in genuine concern that he might ask. There are also reasons that have nothing to do with concern and everything to do with the tension of the moment, the power he's exerting and maintaining with every least little movement.
And, well. He might be pinned, and he might be relishing this, but he's certainly not going to be mistaken for docile.]
Worried about how you'll measure up?
[Like that's even a question, when he's already preoccupied with how talented this dream-Tseng is at working him up, how good it already feels when they've barely even begun to do anything at all. He squeezes his eyes shut, breath condensing on the tabletop as he exhales roughly, and shifts his feet again to rock his hips back a little, for all that there isn't much room to move to begin with.]
Or could it be that you're jealous?